


Starry Skies

by Luvie3



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Action/Adventure, Depression, Drama, Family, Family Feels, Magic, Multi, Reincarnation, Self-Insert, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-05-22 13:57:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6081933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luvie3/pseuds/Luvie3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Would you say that it started at the end? Because that's where our story begins, in the ruins of a burning world. A girl dubbed the Princess made a promise to save said world, and goes to unimaginable lengths to achieve that goal, even though in the process she loses herself to a terrible darkness. But still, it's worth it...Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. His Words and Her Promise

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Children of Solomon](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/177702) by Otaku of the Century. 



**Starry Skies**

**By Gold Sparrow**

PROLOGUE: His Words and Her Promise

* * *

_The fire is everywhere._

There is no place it seems to not touch, wrapping it's long, sun colored hands across the Earth. Looming above the woman, the moon is bright and full and hateful, staring down without pity upon the broken, burning world. Is this fate? No...She knows better than that. This is so much worse than that.

_This is a broken fate._

She's so scared, all of a sudden. Curling up into a ball, tears overflow from her eyes and fall down her cheeks, sobs vibrating painfully in her skull. The roaring of the flames as they eat up bodies and broken structures tunes out her destructive wails. This is the end. This was the final stand, and now there is only her left in this world. There is nothing she can do anymore, no one she can save...Not that one can save the dead.

_The echoing of footsteps, a ghostly phantom of a memory._

The woman opens her eyes. Closer and closer...

Lightning fast, she whips upwards, realization hitting her. Someone's alive, alive, alive. Or, perhaps, the enemy is alive, alive, alive. But when she turns around, still on her knees, her shoulders relax. Then, she is pulled into an embrace. The man blocks out the overwhelming heat and holds her close, like she's a fragile doll to be kept well preserved. She looks up at him, and sees his eyes (his beautiful, beautiful eyes) blinded by blood. Slowly, she caresses his face, her other hand grasping the staff laid down at her side.

It's useless, they both know, but he still smiles in relief as she heals the cut and wipes away the blood. In return, he leans down and takes her face in his hands, brushing away the stray tears. As if a dam is broken, she collapses into tears again. Tears not of frustration or sadness or woe, but rather pure resignation. This is the end. This is all that they've been able to endure.

_But at least I'm dying with him, right?_

"T-this is all m-my fault." She sobs, placing her hands over his, gripping them for reassurance. He kisses her forehead, her cheeks, and her nose, gentle and reassuring.

"No." He says to her, pain sewn across his features. "It's not your fault at all."

"Then who's to b-blame?"

"Nobody. Everybody." Though vague, it's obvious and correct. This world has been broken ever since the Great War started, the fractured glass of what should've been cutting into men and women, causing atrocities that she never thought possible. She grips his robes as he strokes her back soothingly. There is the fire burning and death drawing close but she can only hear his heartbeat.

_If it's with you, you know..._

"I'm glad I'm with you." The woman says, and he chuckles, smoothing her hair.

"I'm glad too." And then, she's not alone and she's not scared. The fire comes closer, claiming the dirt before them, crawling desperately to the lovers. It roars pitifully as they stay just out of reach, greedily panting at their legs. She cannot see over the smoke, but his eyes and arms are still there and even if they are going to die then at least she's with the one she loves more than life itself.

_If it's with you, you know, I'm not scared. I'm really tired. It's been a long time._

"Which is why I'm so sorry." She looks at him questionably and he kisses her like never before, filled with every ounce of passion and love and fear that he has within him. It's so distracting, because she doesn't remember the last time he's kissed her so desperately. Since the war began he has been careful, gentle, expressing his love in a delicate way so that she knows the depth of his feelings. It's not hard to understand why. The next day she's often sent to the front lines to fight beside ordinary soldiers destined for death.

_Their guardian angel, meant to protect them._

No need to protect anyone anymore.

Then she notices the eight-pointed star beneath them, glowing a white light.

" _No_." Her voice is barely above a whisper, turning into a shout "No, No, NO! You  _promised!_ You promised we could  _die together!"_

"I wanted to hold you one last time." He murmurs in her ear, squeezing her to him so she can't escape the circle and his magic. "I wanted you to know how much I care."

She sobs again and beats against his chest, shoulders shaking and body rattling with fear.

"How c-could you?" She almost screams, and then weaker, "I love you so  _much_."

"Please understand." He says desperately, shaking like the final fall leaf on an old, hunched over tree. "I love you too! I need to protect  _you_. I need to protect the world. I know that you're the only one who can do it, because I'm...I would be useless without you. This is...Cruel, but you must understand."

"I can't-"

"Yes you can!" More sobs fill the air, thicker than the fire's dark gray smoke. "I believe in you."

It's probably the hardest thing she's ever faced. The horrors of her life, from abandonment to kidnapping to brainwashing to war, and yet none has ever brought her so much pain. She grips his clothes again and with tiny nod of her head she finally gives up.

"It'll hurt so bad to be without you."

"I know."

"Can I really do it?"

"Of course you can. You're you."

With a final kiss and embrace the lovers part, one surrounded by white lights that look ever so slightly like birds and the other controlling them, both crying. The woman whispers out a final goodbye, her voice as shattered as her heart.

"I'll save this world... _I promise!"_

* * *

_**There are six souls in which you need.** _

_Who...Who are you?_

_**I will help you by calling them to your aid.** _

_Why would you do that for me?_

_**Because I want you to save this world as well.** _

_Who is coming with me?_

_**The Mountain, the Temptress, the Shadow, and the Bird. I have blessed each of them with powerful gifts, but be warned of the consequences. New lives shall enter the world to balance the course of fate. I am also sending back the Pearl and the Feather. The Alchemist isn't going to give up his memories either, so be prepared for him. You need all of them. So** _ **save** _**them, Princess.** _

_I will...I promised him, after all!_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I tried really hard to make the first few chapters, and here comes chapter two!
> 
> ALSO- This story is based off another wonderful fan fiction called "Children of Solomon" which is totally amazing and is also a reincarnation fanfic. You all should definitely check it out, it inspired me to write this story in the first place!
> 
> BYE~~~~~~


	2. For the First (Second) Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a girl is reincarnated and realizes not everything is as it seems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, everyone, the story begins here: in Balbadd! Let's get readin'

**Starry Skies**

**By Gold Sparrow**

**FIRST ARC:**  The Temptress of Balbadd

CHAPTER 1: For the First (Second) Time

* * *

Jane  _was_  brilliant.

_A book is not a tool, but a life. The delicacy of it's contents, personalities written into them by humans just as humans by God. Each page tells a separate and intertwining tale, the black letters stringing together like fate to create a passage that is and will be forever. The cover, hard sometimes and soft others, reflects the importance of what one is reading. Is this science or fantasy, fact or fiction?_

_She ponders this, hunched over a book, before lifting her gaze to the tall towers before her. Rows upon rows of other books awaiting use, stacked by genre and category and author. Slowly, a smile spreads across her face. A book is a life, and like all lives, it can be replaced. Her finger moves to turn the page, but stings harshly. She flinches and looks down, fascinated, as a tiny pin-prick of blood dribbles out from the cut, slowly forming a stream down her skin._

_Her smile fades as she lifts the finger to her lips, tongue pressing down over the cut._

_(Oh, how lonely you are. Must you think something so cruel of those you consider friends?)_

Jane  _was_  a scholar.

_In chess, nothing matters more than understanding the uses of the pieces._

_A rook is strong, but a Queen is stronger. But that makes the Queen more valuable, and, if carefully maneuvered, you can use that trait to your advantage in such a way that, as your opponent greedily inches toward your helpless Queen, they don't see the rook closing in from behind. Oh, but what a treat when they see that as well! A shift in gears, a change of course, and then..._

_"Checkmate," She says as politely as she can. The boy across from her pales, watching as she positions her knight before his King, trapping the piece in an inescapable bind. "Thank you for playing."  
_

_(Is that a glare? Oh well, brush it off, brush it off. No need for anyone but yourself.)_

Jane  _is_  dead.

_She thought her parents were out of town._

_So why are these men here?  
_

_Why are they looking through her parent's drawers?  
_

_Why do they turn to her, their faces visible and eyes bloodshot, then come barreling down the hallway towards her? She's frozen, she's frozen, she can't move an inch-_

_There's the railing, then there's above the railing, and the floor below._

_(Splat.)_

Her parents cry, but she wonders why they feel the need to. Granted, she's their only child, their only prize, but they always yelled so loudly through the echoing white walls of their house, and sat in dead-silence at the dinner table- when they came home. There was always this  _pushing_ , this nudge turning harder and harder for her to be greater, to be  _better_.

_Why does it hurt, then?_

Jane  _was_  going to become President.

_She was asked, as a child, what she would be. She had smiled robotically, remembered what her parents drilled into her, and responded, "The President!"_

_Her teacher gently laughed and turned to the next student, not paying enough attention to see Jane's smile fall from her face._

_(You never could be just anything. Sorry.)_

Jane  _was_  captain of the debate team.

 _The debate team was boring, but hey, colleges go_ nuts  _for it. And, being as she's the captain who has gone to state four years in a row, she expects some recognition to be flowing in soon. The only fun- or borderline fun- part of the experience is when you're staring down your opponent. They something they think oh-so-cutely is clever, and then look so..._ Crushed _, when you refute them._

_Well. She doesn't really enjoy that part. It's just the thrill of being able to shoot off a rebuttal to someone's point, and have them come back with yet another response. It's electrifying._

_(But when no one can keep up with you, what's the point?)_

Jane  _is_  now  _dead_.

 _She can't see, but she can. She can't breathe, but she can. Stuttering, stopping, begging God to_ end this  _or_ save her _._ _Thud, thud, thud, two faces are above her, distorted faces twisted by withdrawal and hysteria and shaking, sweaty palms._

_"W-what do we do?"  
_

_"S-she saw us, she_ saw  _us!" One of them, the one who pushed her, seems to understand this. He picks up a trophy on a nearby bookshelf. She won it for outstanding attendance in ninth grade-  
_

_Held up high, almost a beacon for her to see, before her accomplishments are coming down upon her head, over and over and over._

_(Splat. Again.)_

Her fellow students give speeches and her neighbors offer their condolences, but she wonders why they feel the need to. They always expected her to perfect, their smiles cold and distant. "Jane, help me on this assignment" and "Jane, wanna collaborate with us on this?" became the hallmark of her interactions with her peers. They thought they were so clever, using her mind and then offering her flimsy excuses about why they couldn't hang out with her.

_I did it too, though._

Jane  _had_  over 180 hours of volunteer work under her belt.

_"Miss Hullburg?"  
_

_"Yes?"  
_

_"Today we'll be needing you in the west wing. If you would, please attend to this girl...She's quite ill, you see."  
_

_Cancer, is what the nurse meant by ill. And by_ that _, she means a very, very bad cancer. The girl's head is shiny and bald like an egg, her skin pale like snow. Beneath the frail cover of white skin, blue and red veins criss cross up and down her arms, intertwining like two snakes fighting over a meal. But somehow..._

What pretty blue eyes.

_The color of the sky, or perhaps the sun-covered ocean. How a delicate, dying, cold, empty, hateful person like her could have such beautiful eyes escapes Jane, but looks don't matter. At least, that's what she thinks as she stares at herself in the mirror, looking at the blandness of her features. No one had ever called her beautiful. But if this girl and her swapped places, she's sure everyone would call her pretty. A blonde with vibrant blue eyes, she bets. No one would expect anything from her._

But no one does, anyway.

_Jane reaches into her satchel and retrieves her guilty pleasure book. Then, she leaves it with that_ _delicate, dying, cold, empty, hateful girl._

Jane had offers from Ivy League schools.

_Stanford, Harvard, Princeton..._

_Jane closes her eyes._

_How hard did she work to get into these colleges? Now that she can pick from any of them, it doesn't seem worth it at all. She sighs. Perhaps if her parents let her go..._

_No. Doesn't matter. She straightens, looking over the acceptance letters. She must calculate their acceptance rates, political science and pre-law courses, and library sizes. Things like the campuses and dorms and, um, food courts(?) can come later. For now, it's her future that she must focus on. And, of course, the ever looming reminder that tick, tock, her parents want an answer._

Jane Hullburg  _is_  dead.

But Jane does not worry, nor care. It's a relief in a way, actually. No more studying or worrying or college decisions. She'll move on. She will move on. Right? Heaven or something.

Actually...Now that she thinks about it...

_How am I thinking-?_

* * *

_Why does it feel so warm?_

**_You're safe now._ **

_Are you God?_

**_Please do me a favor._ **

_I'm scared._

**_You'll do great, O Great Temptress of the Sun._ **

* * *

The crescent moon in the sky is almost like an arc of light, reflecting off of the black-green waters where seals sing lullabies in hushed calls to their pups. The sky, though dark and effortlessly smooth, is peppered with stars. Reds and blues and silvers, dotting the clear, open air with certainty and hushed resilience. They break through the atmosphere with their colors, hitting the eye with beckoning hands. A traveler would be heartbroken looking upon such a night, knowing that they'd never be able to dance in the sky like the teasing, distant stars.

But, search as they will, the stars cannot find a single person to cast their colors upon this night. The country they sit over, with it's dusty brick buildings and hushed, sailor-less docks, sleeps soundly through the night, as if for once sparing the tired King a break from worrying over those who lurk when the darkness is free and plentiful. So, they take it upon themselves to search the streets, flinging themselves through the veins of the city to find just  _one_ to grasp onto, one to hold in place with their beauty.

But even when they find her, she is much too busy to pay attention to them.

A young woman enters the Slums of Balbadd carrying a basket of towels. She hurries along the dirt roads and scamperes down familiar alleyways with the mindset of a woman completely dead set on her task at hand. The darkness is pierced only by the occasional lamp or torch, but other than that the streets are pitch black. The woman isn't scared or afraid however, because she has lived in these same Slums for two years, and memorized the layout like the backside of her hand.

(Only smart women can live in this place. The others...Well, that's a bit sad.)

The woman finally reaches her destination, a small shack with cracked brown walls and dirt floors. She enters, knowing that knocking will be the least bit of her friend's worries and hears the shrill cries of a newborn baby. She smiles a bright smile and hurries in, taking in the sight before her. Her friend, a fellow young woman with striking green eyes cradles a little baby in her arms, looking exhausted yet prideful. Her friend smiles, the bags under her eyes from being in a ten hour long labor crinkling slightly.

"It's a girl!" She says, her voice strained but her eyes shining. The woman smiles wider and strides over, setting the towels down and dipping them in the water by the other's cot. She first wipes her friend's face before gently taking the baby girl from her and beginning to wash the child. The girl still cries, but she doesn't struggle, a trait the woman finds extremely helpful.

"You did a great job, Lilliana." Lilliana, the woman who just bore the babe seems even more proud and looks fondly on her newborn's face, now free from the blood that came with it.

"Thank you for everything, Anise." Lilliana murmurs softly, looking at her friend with the kind of fondness that comes only with a long shared bond. Anise merely shakes her head, blushing at Lilliana's kind tone.

"You did it for me when I had Alibaba!" Anise giggles, and then remembering her own son, she adds, "Where is he, exactly?" Lilliana bites her lip to keep from laughing and replies,

"My favorite one year old decided to spend some quality time with the  _lovely_ Shana." Anise restrains her laughter and cradles the baby in her arms, remembering how her Alibaba loves to press his face onto Shana's, looking at her like she is the prettiest girl in the world. It's almost enough to make her jealous, but she sees no harm in the mindless adoration of a small child- a  _baby._

"I swear, he's too smart for a child that young." They both smile, but the silence hovers over them. For the first time, Anise truly looks at the child. She has stopped crying for the moment, but her face makes her look as though she is concentrating on something. Anise notices how she has her mother's cheeks, and also coos over her tiny button nose and little cold ears. Then Anise sees her wisps of hair and instantly feels herself paling.

She looks at Lilliana, who also seems struck with panic and guilt and another emotion that flickers in her eyes.

"I...I though you said the father was just some man...?" Anise whispers, staring straight at Lilliana with a touch of fear in her eyes. Lilliana collapses back onto the thin cot, looking years beyond her time. Her sharp green eyes turn watery and she slowly reaches out a hand to touch her daughter's hair.

"I thought she was...But...Oh dear God..." Lilliana's cheeks are now red, and tears tread across her face though her soft voice doesn't waver.

"She's... _This_  child is his baby." Anise's eyes widen with surprise and she looks once again at the object of their conversation.

"Your secret lover? I though that he wanted you to join him and you left...Unless..."

"I was pregnant before he asked me to leave with him." It is a startling realization, but Lilliana and Anise both are pale and shaking. Anise struggles to continue rocking the little one in her arms. Long-fingered hands reach out to pick up the half conscious infant, pulling the girl to her chest. Tears still fall down the green-eyed woman's face, but she is smiling now.

"I was wrong, sweetie! Your daddy  _was_  the man I loved! Oh thank you, God! Thank you so much for answering my prayers!" The laugh is filled with happiness, and the fingers continue to stroke the girl's cheek.

"Thank you my little girl! Thank you my dear-"

* * *

Jane understands.

She is not religious, and has no idea  _(now, especially)_  if there is truly an afterlife, but she understands that she is being... _Reborn_. Jane isn't born yet, but she somehow knows what is happening as it happens.

Wait.

She's aware...She's  _aware_  that she's in her mother's  _womb_.

_Oh sweet Jesus._

She first hears soft words and promises, and a gentle touch. Then the cheering of a crowd as it roars excitedly, men and women raising their faces and hands, praising her mother's voice. She feels the sobs of an inconsolable woman and can almost see the moon as her would-be mother escapes into the night, wanting to avoid the detection of her unborn child's father. A lie being told to a friend about the paternity.

This is not Jane's world, but somehow she knows it by heart.

_Why is it so familiar?_

It's all a quick tumble of situations and emotions, and then Jane is suddenly thrust into the world of the living. She breaths her first breath (for the second time) and tired of being tumbled around and around in a brief whirlwind of life, Jane cries. Once she begins to cry, she can't stop. It just comes and comes, tears flying down her tiny baby cheeks.

It's as if all the emotions she has kept up inside her for all these years have finally been allowed out, and once those tears flow to her eyes, they never want to leave. They continue to scamper out the corners and crawl through the center despite the fact that she can't even open her eyes. Almost painfully, and as a result of her sobs, her eyes squeeze together harshly, blocking her sight.

Warm, familiar arms embrace her. While she still cries, it is reduced to a pitiful whimper. The person cradles her head and holds her close, and with a startled jerk Jane realizes that she is being held against a woman's rather large chest. Slowly and with some difficulty Jane finally relaxes, finding the woman's soft hum to be rather refreshing. A loud sound that is probably just a person entering brings her back to tears. It hurts her new ears, and she is suddenly very scared- very  _nervous_  for the woman holding her.

Another person must have actually entered the room, because the woman holding her starts to speak.

"It's a girl!" The language isn't English, but Jane can understand it for some reason. She begins to think that the language seems to be similar to Arabic or Persian.

Footsteps bring the person closer. It's probably the woman's husband, she thinks.

 _Father_.

She crushes that thought. A hand gently dislodges Jane from her original holder and the absence of those arms makes her cry some more. She forces herself to stop struggling, however because a warm and wet cloth presses against her cold body and she suddenly knows what being hand-washed is like.

"You did a great job, Lilliana." So it isn't her fath...The husband, but another woman. A nurse, perhaps? Lilliana must be that woman's name.

_It's so pretty._

Jane never liked being Jane. Her name is her name, but she wishes that her parents had given her a better, more suiting name. It's in her opinion that every girl looks like a Jane. Every girl can be a Jane. Which is the very reason she doesn't  _want_  to be Jane. No, she wants to be something that showed off her inner self, the person she strives so hard to be.

_But I failed to be that person, didn't I? So isn't being Jane alright?_

The women continue their conversation, unaware of the baby's predicament.

"Thank you for everything, Anise." Her mother- Lilliana says, and Jane frowns internally. Anise...Anise...She has never met an Anise before, but why does it sound so familiar?

_I remember everything...I have to try harder._

"You did it for me when I had Alibaba!" Alibaba? The woman giggles happily, and she seems too young to have children. "Where is he, exactly?" The woman adds, suddenly realizing her son isn't there.

_Anise...Alibaba...Where is this all from?_

"My favorite one year old decided to spend some quality time with Shana." Lilliana replies, and Jane is suddenly all too aware of how her voice is the equivalent to sweet honey.

"I swear, he's too smart for a child that young." Anise says, and Jane can hear the love in her voice. The quiet is all too sudden and Jane squirms slightly, feeling Anise staring at her. Anise's voice is slightly horrified and scared as she says the next few words.

"I...I though you said the father was just some man...?" Jane's blood turns cold and she knows what it means, even though her new mind is a bit behind. A hand suddenly touches her head, and it's so familiar that Jane wants to start bawling again.

"I thought she was...but...Oh dear God...She's...this child is his baby."

"Your secret lover? ... I though that he wanted you to join him and you left...unless..." Secret lover? Where  _is_  she? Last time she checked, the correct term is mistress.

_What happened to mo- Lilliana?_

"I was pregnant before he asked me to leave with him." The realization that dawns upon both woman just confuses Jane more. Abruptly she gives out, her body processing that she's tired, little limbs weakening and head drooping.

But first, hands reach out and grasp her, and once again she is back on Lilliana's chest and it feels so good that Jane can no longer keep back her emotions and embraces the fact that this woman is her  _mother_.

_Why didn't my other mom ever hold me like this?_

"I was wrong, sweetie! Your daddy  _was_  the man I loved! Oh thank you, God! Thank you so much for answering my prayers!" The laugh that comes to her is so relieved and happy that if she wasn't just born Jane would have laughed along with her. But more than that, the laugh is also so melodious that Jane feels like she is flying on the scales she learned from  _The Sound Of Music._

Her cheek is stroked and she leans into the touch.

"Thank you my little girl! Thank you my dear Centola!" As Jane slips into unconsciousness, she has only one thought.

_Centola...It's definitely unique._

* * *

Early the next morning, Jane finds that she can open her eyes a crack. The first time that she does she burns her eyes with the light coming in through the windows. But as her eyes adjust ever so slightly, her mother comes into view. She has brown hair that is as shiny as the sun and pale green eyes that look like two pieces of glass...Or, given their reflective nature, mirrors. Her mother kisses her forehead and strokes her hair.

"You have soft hair, Centola." That soothing, honey-like voice murmurs to her. Jane knows she needs to get used to the name, especially since it is her's now.

The day progresses, and Centola can't seem to shake her boredom. As a day old baby, either her mother or her 'Auntie Anise' holds and rocks her. She drifts in and out of sleep, thinking and planning and accidentally crying a few times. Now that she is reborn, where is she? Who are these people? Why did they live in a shack with dirt floors and windows without glass?

Well, that could be explained simple. Third world country, obviously. But the language is so  _strange_. Having been forced to learn the basics of many languages, she can understand that the origins of this tongue are some sort of deluded, distorted latin mixed with a distinctly arabic vibe. She does not know of any country holding such a language, nor has she ever heard an accent like it.

She ponds on this until, at noon, the first visitor comes by. And after that, groups of woman and a few men keep coming and coming.

The girls all coo over the babe and the men merely nod or give a gruff sound to signify their approval. Centola isn't very happy with the men, their bored expressions not matching the open, loving actions of adults toward children where she comes from. They even strike up conversations with Anise after giving Centola a once over, asking for appointments with her once she returns to work the next day.

It's late in the afternoon, or what she assumes by the shade of golden light outside, when the last visitor comes by. It's a woman, holding the hand of a little boy who stumbles along ungracefully on new legs.

"Yoohoo~! Anise, Lilliana! I have a little boy to deliver." Anise, who hasn't left Lilliana's side since she gave birth, smiles her bright smile and opens her arms wide. The boy shakily runs to her and throws his arms around her neck, cuddling close. In her head, something clicks and Centola realizes what had been haunting her as long as she's been alive.

* * *

Jane read books to learn. She studied every day, and in the end, while revered for her mind and cleverness, Jane became alone. It was, probably, inescapable for her; after all, in the beginning a long, long time ago, she had read because she loved it with her entire heart and no one told her it would isolate her from the rest of the world.

Within little Jane's books, she found friends. Heroes, villains, damsels in distress. There was the lovable comic relief and the occasional side story- and every little detail she learned about a character she preserved with tenderness. But soon, as she began to thirst for explanations about the world around her, her friends became people who existed at some point. The often overshadowed Friedrich Nietzsche, the beautiful descriptions of William Wordsworth, the brilliance of Bismark, a politician who's carefully crafted plans kept Europe at peace- until he was dismissed by the narrow minded Emperor William I.

There was wonder and intrigue and thousands of years of stories and knowledge for her to devour, and she spent her childhood holding the hands of the greatest writers, scientists, politicians and philosophers through the pages of her books. Studying was all that mattered. Books were all she needed. So the day she was browsing the library and found a comic with a blue haired boy on the cover, she expected herself to put it down so she could find a copy of "The Hand that Swept the Sounding Lyre" by Frances Sargent Locke.

She didn't.

Perhaps it was a memory of her childhood, when things were simple. Perhaps it was the promise of adventure. The librarian ordered the entire series for her, and every time she went to the library her parents thought that she was reading, as she always did at home.

But she wasn't. She was reading the tale of Aladdin and Alibaba in the amazing story called Magi.

* * *

The little boy with golden hair stumbles over to Centola and peers at her with matching eyes, the same color as the light shining outside. It reminds her of colors she's seen in her mind, images placed into her life by vivid descriptions of warm suns and bright dandelions. He lifts a hand to pat her hand. He isn't very gentle, but he isn't hard either, using a strength that he's not conscious of.

Lilliana smiles at the other child and motions him to sit like her, cross-legged on the cot. The boy does so with difficulty, pouting and making child-like noises of complaint. Then Lilliana places Centola onto his lap. He fits her head into the crook of his elbow and he plays with her tiny hand, so much bigger than her's but infinitely small himself. His eyes look straight into her face, and Centola has to try hard not to feel as though he's seeing straight past her facade of innocence.

Anise does her little giggle again.

"Lilliana~ looks like Alibaba has a crush on your tiny Centola," Her mother laughs and nods her head in agreement. But Centola doesn't listen to the replies, her mind going blank. All of a sudden she is thinking about is his golden eyes, his name, and the fact that she was reborn into a manga.

_This. Is. Awesome._

* * *

_And it begins._

* * *

Centola learns a lot in her first few years.

 **Year 1:** As it turns out, she's born in the Slums of Balbadd, and her mother is a singer in a beat up old tavern. Lilliana is forced to dress up in skimpy outfits and be gone most nights, but it brought money to the table and her sweet mom never complains. Alibaba and her become close companions because of this reason, and due to the fact they are close in age, leading to a sort of "buddy-system". Centola stays over at Anise and Alibaba's house during the nights when her mother is performing, often sleeping over there due to the late evenings her mother's job requires of her. In the morning Lilliana picks her and Alibaba up, bringing them back home while Anise is tending to, well,  _her job_.

The day is quite a bore, she learns. Being an infant who can't walk  _nor_ talk is bothersome- though she tries her best to imitate a child's actions. Alibaba proves to be a good study reference, and she eagerly copies his innocent, dumb actions with gusto. There are limits to this skill, but Lilliana doesn't seem to mind and coos over her baby with an overwhelming amount of love.

The most annoying thing about not being able to walk is that Alibaba starts to be able to do things without her. Alibaba is a wanderer, walking on stick legs here and there and everywhere, exploring their home and leaving his crawling friend in the dust. But Centola remains patient. She spent her idle days memorizing the landscape and thinking hard about math formulas. Years of hard work aren't going to go to waste just because she is now reduced to the form of a small child.

_Why must I be so tiny?_

* * *

**Year 2:** Eventually Centola grows enough to be able to walk after Alibaba, and finds herself entertained by chattering with him in incoherent, mumbled words. Of course, soon enough, Alibaba left her behind with that as well. It happens during the change of children, when the sun is low in the sky and Lilliana gives a tittering Centola over to Anise. Centola began walking a few days before, and now she's trying to exercise to build up strength. It's hard work for a little girl barely over one, but luckily her young form gives her lots of energy and her mind gives her resilience. She takes one step forward, forgets to bend her knee and comes tumbling downward. Alibaba reaches out, and she falls on him, sending them both spiraling in the dirt.

But before they land on the ground, Alibaba says something.

"Centola!" He cries. The women stand still for a moment, until they both look at one another and begin to laugh.

"I hoped it would be 'Mama'!" Anise reaches down and picks up the two children, checking them for any scraps. Other than a slightly bruised elbow, Centola is fine, as is Alibaba. Her first injury isn't as bad as she was thinking it was going to be. They walk slowly toward Anise's home and both hold the older woman's hands.

For the first time (in both this world and the last) a heat blossoms across Centola's cheeks and her heart beats faster than normal.

She hopes Anise doesn't notice.

* * *

For the longest time, Centola wonders what her first word should be. Not everyone gets this sort of chance, and somehow Centola knows that she is going to have to use it wisely. Or, perhaps, she's thinking too much about it. Days pass and turn into weeks and finally, when she is almost two and Alibaba is almost three, Centola finally decides to say something. She can't wait to have conversations with Lilliana and Anise and Alibaba. But Alibaba can only blather random words with improper grammar, as of now.

_One of them is my name._

She shakes that thought aside.

_Well, of course. It's natural for the repetition of names to stick in a developing child's mind. I shall use this as reference for my later conversations._

She first speaks the day Alibaba becomes sick and Lilliana decides not to bother Anise by leaving Centola with her. Lilliana instructs her to be silent and not annoy anyone, but Lilliana already knows her daughter will follow her orders, as she always seems to do.

They travel down a dusty, dirty path that leads around and through buildings with broken walls and shattered windows (if they even had any). As she walks with her mother, Centola takes in the sights, her lips curving as she takes in the new sights of her home she was previously sheltered from. The sunset is always pretty, even in the Slums. It makes everything glow orange and gold, and her mother's brown hair captures the light and turns into a shining auburn. Nobody in the Slums seems to notice the sun's fading warmth or it's glorious beauty, however. The dirt dwellers, either retreating into their dens of filth or emerging from a whore's house to get to the bars, all walk with their heads down, eyes averted. They don't want any trouble because they already have enough.

The pair eventually came to a wooden building with open shutters, allowing lantern light and jovial calls to spill from the inside onto the street like a cascade of frothy beer. Men and women alike eagerly enter the building, smiles gracing their tired old faces as today's pay sits awaiting use in their pockets.

_Not bad, for a bar._

Her mother goes around the side and knocks on a door, which is opened by an old woman. She seems to have had broad shoulders once, and now sports wrinkles and a scowl. The elderly woman glares with milky eyes at Centola who fidgetes quietly behind her mother.

"Who's the brat, Lilliana?" She growls at her mom, bony hand on bony hip. Lilliana pats Centola's hair reassuringly and replies,

"This is my daughter, Centola, Mrs. Gamela." Mrs. Gamela scowls and eyes Lilliana.

"You never said you had a daughter."

"You never asked." Her mother isn't sarcastic, just smooth and proper. Centola learns a lesson in that moment. In the Slums of Balbadd, women can't be educated. Women are underestimated and expected to become dancers like her mother or prostitutes like Anise. But the women of the Slums  _can_  become  _more_ , if they are a little witty and a little clever.

_Good thing I'm a little of both._

Lying is an essential she will need to learn in order to survive in her new home of troubles and filth.

Mrs. Gamela huffs with anger and annoyance but lets Lilliana in, muttering under her breath about whores and their wiles. Lilliana takes Centola's little hand to lead her through the thin hallway into a dressing room. It smells of perfume and heavy spices, the lingering taste of jasmine oil and powder in the air stinging her tongue despite their alluring scents. Women dressed in skimpy outfits and braiding one another's hair sit on long benches facing an old, stained, but undeniably large mirror, gossiping with bright smiles. Lanterns over head illuminate the vials of lotion and make up spread over the tables pressed up against the wall under the mirror, and behind the women in racks hang brightly colored scarves and skirts and shirts and dresses. Lilliana greets them and they flock to see her child, the "famous" Centola.

"You're so adorable!" They squeal, and when Lilliana asks them to watch her while she's on duty, they agree, hugging the one year old. Centola remains silent throughout the whole endeavor, blushing and sitting on a chair provided for her. One woman offers to brush her hair and she nods.

"Clever girl!"

She watches her mother change into an outfit consisting of a white tub top and white bikini bottoms, see through white pants placed on top sort of like the ones Princess Jasmine wore in the Disney movie  _Aladdin_. Her mom sits in a chair, and one of the girls takes the brown locks into her hands. The fellow dancer, similarly dressed, begins to weave intricate braids crisscrossing over Lilliana's scalp, which transforms into a single braid.

Perfume is sprayed and makeup applied, bracelets soon lining her wrists and necklaces spilling across her chest. Then, her beautiful mother comes over and kisses her cheeks, telling her to have fun and be good to her friends. The girls come and go until a waitress saddles up to the bored little girl.

"Hello there little birdie~" Instantly Centola recognizes the sound of Shana's voice. She blinks and smiles up at the other woman, murmuring small, babbling sounds of familiarity. Shana smiles excitedly and presses her hands over her heart before leaning down to swoop Centola into a hug. She doesn't know Shana very well, but gets the feeling that she isn't half bad, with pretty looks and not much brains. Her heart is full of goodness, however, and Centola likes to think that she will find a husband who will love her and keep her well.

_This is the Slums, not a fairy tale._

Shana is dressed like Lilliana, though she isn't as pretty as her mother despite her long dark hair and exposed belly. Centola is suddenly picked up and carried away by Shana, who races out the door and sneak down the hall.

"Wanna go see your mother preform?" Shana asks, but doesn't wait for a reply since Centola doesn't have one to give. Instead, the child holds onto the adult and allows her to take her into the bar- though she's sure Lilliana would disapprove.

The bar is pressed up against the left side of the tavern, all the stools lined up before it taken. There are wooden seats with tables to match scattered everywhere and sofas against the back, some of them covered with thin curtains. All the men either sit alone or in groups, a lucky few with a girl draped over them. Shana stays silent and makes sure no one sees poor young Centola being towed to the back. She finds them a secluded light blue sofa to sit on. Centola is placed on Shana's lap and they turn to an old stage with shady-looking wooden floors.

A few minutes and fidgets later, the crowd starts to cheer and musicians take their positions. The waiters extinguish all but a few candles near the stage and suddenly Centola doesn't care that she's tired and uncomfortable and that the whole place smells like booze, her mother is now onstage.

Lilliana begins to sing. It's... _Mesmerizing_. She takes her honey voice and stretches it, letting it last over lyrics and notes. She uses  _crescendos_ that bloom into  _fortes_ before falling away in  _fortepiano._ Her eyes fill with tears at her mother's song, and she feels dazed as her mom dances along to it, making the meager stage into a set worthy of Broadway.

Centola knows what she wants to say.

The moon is high when they get home, Centola being carried by Lilliana. The cot she was born on is also their bed and they both lay down, hugging one another under the thin blankets for warmth.

Centola opens her mouth, and lifts her half lidded eyes upward.

_"Sing."_

Her voice is soft and childish, and for some reason she expected her voice to be the slightly nasally, quiet one it used to be. Green eyes widen and stare down at her, and she looks right back up. "P-please." She adds as an after thought, hoping that her accent is right. Lilliana smiles and pulls her closer, stroking her hair as she sings a lullaby that is unfamiliar yet comforting to Centola.

_"Quiet is the wind_

_that slips between the branches and_

_Unknown is the world_

_Around you and I_

_Yet that's alright, yes that's alright_

_You're safe here, We're safe here."_

* * *

**Year 5:** When Centola is five years old, there is a strange occurrence. In the middle of the night, she... _Feels_  something. Like a lightning bolt, a jolt hits her. She awakes and slithers silently out of the cot, eyeing her mother's sleeping form. There is electricity inside of her, and her fingers shake unsteadily, as if her entire existence is being re-created. She stumbles out of the house and into the dark, empty streets.

Then she's running down the street and into an abandoned, tall building. She dodges broken pillars and scrabbles up old stone stairs, up, up, up until there is a door and then the roof, a moon shining too brightly in her eyes. The temperature causes goose bumps along her bare arms and legs as the cold air trails it's hands over her limbs and digs it's fingernails into her skin. The famous Balbaddian fog slithers through the streets, the lights sprinkled here and there making the gray fog appear like white clouds drifting throughout the cold, humid city that smells of garbage and the sea. Centola walks forward, looking out to a place far, far away.

To the ledge she goes and in the distance, past the city she was born in and the mountains among the skyline there is a flutter of white light. It isn't a star nor the moon's rays, but an explosion of Rukh. She's too far away to see it, but she knows what is happening. For a moment, she can see farther than ever before and farther than she ever possibly will.

The Rukh fly chaotically, moving with purposefulness in a spiral up to meet the sky. Once they hit the stars they turn around to go back down again, hovering over a new born baby.

Centola opens up her arms and even though she has no idea what she is doing, there are suddenly little white birds flying around her, spiraling up and down in a similar fashion. A pillar of light that nobody else can see is extending all the way to the sky just like the other light. Suddenly, there are six more, gracing the night with the glory of the unknown.

She returns to bed an hour later, foggy and tired and feeling incredibly satisfied.

_Welcome to the world, little one loved by the Rukh_

* * *

**Year 6:** When Centola turns six, she wonders if Alibaba notices the looks they get. They both are so different. Alibaba has golden hair and eyes, a fair complexion to boot- similar to his mother sans the lovely prostitute's raven hair. As for Centola, she learns one day after looking in a mirror at Mrs. Gamela's bar that she inherited her mother's mirror-like green eyes and faintly tanned skin, her infamous strawberry blonde hair brushing her shoulders. Centola deduces that she must be the child of some wealthy nobleman like Alibaba- it would explain  _why_  exactly her mother left her father in such haste.

_But Alibaba's a Prince. At best, I'm just some rich landowner's bastard daughter._

The people of the slums, in turn, are tanned and rough around the edges, all dark hair and eyes like Anise. Those eyes aren't kind like Anise though, and they glare at Alibaba and Centola often, following them with weary, harsh gazes.

_We are blond. They think we don't belong because we're different. At least we aren't alone._

_At least I'm not alone._

Alibaba likes to explore, dragging Centola around with him with a smile and a quick excuse to their respective working mothers. Her mother begins to work days instead of nights so that the four of them can spend more time together instead of taking turns like they used to. Like a lot of children from the slums, once they grow old enough to leave the house they're gone and join the others as fellow street rats.

They crawl through holes, sprint up staircases heading nowhere and shuffle along the crowded market places. They march up and down the slums, Centola memorizing the roads and alleyways in private as to remember where to run should Alibaba get into a fight with the other kids. Speaking of Alibaba, the boy will often talk and stop, find something interesting and then start blabbering all over again.

Centola never really realized how much Alibaba talks. He is an anime/manga character in her (ex-)world, so they are expected to talk whenever their input is needed or for a joke. Otherwise known as  _explain-the-plot-no-jutsu._ But Alibaba loves to chatter. He speaks in his seven-year-old voice and Centola listens, sometimes laughing, sometimes smiling. She can't help but feel like she has a friend whenever she is around Alibaba.

_I never had a friend before._

Of course, sometimes her cheeks flush and her breathing quickens, the sight of golden eyes alight with delight gripping something in her chest as everything becomes even more wonderful and shiny.

_I-It's hot today..._

Her life is nice. She has Alibaba and her mother and Anise and the other street rats that follow them around, enticed by Alibaba's constant speeches. Of course, everyone is enraptured by Alibaba's words, they're unspeakably beautiful.

But it isn't all good times and happy moments. Centola remembers the time when she was Jane and had three meals or more everyday. She remembers being able to read and have pleasant conversations with her peers and intellectual parents. She rememberes a time when Jane didn't have to work so hard for food like Lilliana has to now.

At least Anise and Lilliana share their money and food so that their families get at least two meals a day, breakfast and dinner. Centola can deal with it as she is already naturally skinny, but Alibaba is hungry all the time, scowling whenever his stomach rumbles. So, one morning, Centola takes an apple from her breakfast. When it's noon and Alibaba makes a noise of complaint about the grumbling of his belly, she hands it to him. He stares down at the juicy red fruit with drool coming out of his mouth before staring at her, as if seeing the girl with thin arms and legs for the first time.

He finds a knife discarded on the ground near a shack and grabs her hand, running down to the river. He washes the knife carefully like his mother instructed him to do, and then cuts the apple, handing the bigger half to her. She stares down at it and realizes that she had lied to herself. She is hungry, just as hungry as Alibaba.

Alibaba smiles and digs into his half, mumbling between bites,

"You're so silly (munch) Centola! Here in the (munch) Slums, we take care of each other (munch)!" He spits out the seeds and sighs contently, patting his belly. Then he places an arm around a blushing and stuttering Centola and says,

"We eat together or not at all." He looks expectantly at the apple and she bites it, eating with the same (if not more) gusto that her blond haired friend had. It's in that moment she questions for the first time if, possibly, she's in love.

* * *

"OI! Blondie! Why you always hangin' out with a girl?!" It's a war call from a fellow street rat and Centola hides behind Alibaba, like he told her to whenever somebody wanted to pick a fight. It's an unwritten rule of the Slums that when a boy turns six he starts fighting. Alibaba got in his first fight on his birthday, and Centola hid behind a wall, knowing that girls weren't suppose to fight. Luckily, Alibaba is strong for a kid.

His favorite fighting partner is a boy with black dreadlocks and brown eyes, fake courage and true anger etched into his face.

"Why you all talk?!" Alibaba shouts back, waving his fist in the air. It would be funny if she weren't scared. Yes, Centola read the manga and loved the magic and fight scenes, but truth is that she is a bit of a coward and a pacifist, never encouraging fights. Centola knows that if she tries to stop "mini-rumble"  _here_  though, she could ruin Alibaba's reputation. And considering that Alibaba is already a liked person in the Slums (as much one could be liked) it is not a good idea.

_This. Is. Not. Awesome._

They tackle one another and the kids surround them, cheering happily and betting on the winner. The opposing boy ends up on the ground, Alibaba sitting on top.

"Hahaha! Looks like the score is now three to two! You're such a loser!" There's something suddenly mean about Alibaba. The other street rat looks angrier than before and Centola wonders how he must feel. Alibaba goes home to Anise, one of the only loving mothers in the entire Slums, and what does the boy go back to? One meal a day, if he's lucky? A starving family? A crappy parent or two?

And there Alibaba is, Centola's Prince, shoving the kid's face into the dirt.

_To hell with that!_

Centola strides over to Alibaba and, rules be damned, prepares to rip him off of the other street rat. Her tiny stick arms wrap around his chest and she heaves him off. Alibaba lands on his bottom with a thump and Kassim stares up at his savior. The other kids all boo and walk away, looking for some other mischief to do. Centola offers the fellow Slum rat her hand, and says,

"I'm sorry for Alibaba's behavior, it won't happen again..."

He glares at her and gets up on his own. He is the same height as Alibaba, just an inch or two taller than Centola and a little bigger, even though every child in the slums have sickly frames.

"Tch. I woulda won." He mutters, still glaring. He shakes Centola's still outstretched arm gruffly, like he's done it only a few times and says, "The name's Kassim, and I guess that  _twerp_  is Alibaba."

Centola nods, and takes her hand away, offering it instead to Alibaba. Alibaba's cheeks are flaming and he looks ready to tackle Kassim again, but actually takes Centola's hand and jumps to his feet, pouting.

"I'm not sorry." He growls, and Centola knows what to do. It's a strange emotion, starting in her chest and growing, spreading to her brain and hands and feet, making her warm and giving her a certain sense of what it is like to be... _Feminine_.

_What the hell?_

She bats her eyelashes and squeezes Alibaba's hand, and Alibaba, in shock, blushes.

"Apologize." She says sweetly, giving his hand another affectionate squeeze "Pleeeeaaasssse?"

"F-f-fine. I apologize, Kassim." Kassim isn't very satisfied, but one 'pretty please' from Centola makes him reciprocate Alibaba's apology.

"I'm sorry too, Alibaba." Kassim says rather sarcastically (not that Alibaba notices) and then he turns his eyes toward Centola and asks, "Who the hell are you?"

Centola blinks, smiles, and says, "I'm Centola, nice to meet you!"

* * *

Suddenly Centola realizes that she has changed from the 'Plain Jane' she used to be.

Now she thinks that she's more nice and sweet, smiling and laughing with Kassim and Alibaba. She doesn't understand what motivated her change, what prompted it. Maybe because she doesn't know how to read and thus cannot shelter herself with books. Or because they can't afford books anyway. Another part of her urges her to think deeper than just that, a part of her that, when it sees her friends or her mother, lights up.

Either way, she's not sure she cares.

_Who knew being myself could be so fun?_

Jane Hullburg was always quiet and sad, but Centola is free from her past and given a fresh start among the citizens of Balbadd. It's wonderful, like a daydream, but Centola knows that the day will come when the plot settles in. The day when Kassim murders his father. The day when Anise dies. The day when the King of Balbadd visits the slums and announces that Alibaba is his son and will join him in the royal palace.

Then, Centola will be alone again.

* * *

"I got it! I'm the boss of this mountain!" Kassim yells, holding up a ratty and ripped white flag. Centola sits at the bottom of the mound of junk, playing with little Mariam.

_No...Not yet!_

"Seems like there really isn't anyone around who can beat me." Kassim gloats. A hand sneaks out of the drawer and grabs the flag.

"Nyahaha! You can't let your guard down, Kassim!"

It's starting. Centola stares at the ground in front of her for a long time until Alibaba and Kassim start to fight again. Little Mariam touches her hand and looks worriedly at her.

"Big Sis...Aren't you going to stop them?" Centola blinks, and smiles slightly at the little girl before nodding. She lifts a hand and pats Mariam's head.

"Yep! Don't you worry Mariam, I'm going to save them." And then she's off, parting the fighting rascals with fake tears and a cute little pout that she has perfected over months of practice.

_Yes...I'm going to save my friends!_

* * *

**Year 7:** One morning, in the well-liked bar owned by Mrs. Gamela, a seven year old with wavy strawberry blond hair is sits on a stool. She is watching an old woman scribble away in a tiny notebook with attentive eyes, erasing her presence from the room by staying quiet and breathing silently. Eventually, however, she gains confidence, and sits closer to the table.

"May I ask what are you doing, Mrs. Gamela?" The girl asks, holding her little face in her hands. Mrs. Gamela turns her (clouded, gray) eyes to the child, scrutinizing her.

"So you can speak, Centola." It isn't much of a question but Centola nods anyway.

"Yes I can, Mrs. Gamela. I just prefer to listen." Before Centola can turn away her glass like green eyes, Mrs. Gamela can see the intelligent gleam in them.

"Say girl...You're actually rather clever, aren't you?" Her tone is accusatory, but Centola merely cocks her head and smiles, taking a lock of her long hair between her thin fingers.

"I'm flattered, Ma'am, but I don't know how to read or write." Mrs. Gamela almost smiles, but her tired, wrinkled face seems to forget how to do such a thing.

"I do."

"Really!?" Centola's face morphs into a perfect picture of innocent wonder, excitement crossing over the surface of the green mirrors in her eyes.

"Yes, I learned secretly as a child." Mrs. Gamela looks triumphant, showing Centola the pages of her little notebook. "My father was a good man, and had me learn from my brother, which is why I was able to survive so long in this junkyard town."

"Whoa. Ma'am...May I ask you a question?" Mrs. Gamela is once again looking down on the child, whose cheeks blush and eyes sparkle. She puts her right hand on her right cheek, turning ever so slightly away.

"It's so embarrassing but..." Mrs. Gamela suddenly has a feeling. It starts in her head and spreads to her chest and suddenly, in those mirrors Mrs. Gamela can see herself again, young and not-quite beautiful with wide shoulders and a confident air, needed by everyone around. She sees herself when she was just Gamela, Queen of the Slums.

"Can you teach me to read and write?" Gamela, Queen of the Slums is nodding before she even knows what's happening.

* * *

Six months later, that same little girl sits at Mrs. Gamela's desk in her apartment above the bar, her long hair covering her eyes. Mrs. Gamela's right eye twitches before she forces herself to settle down. The girl looks up and tries to blow her strawberry blond hair out of her face. Mrs. Gamela fidgets in the chair next to her, willing herself to remain patient and wait for the child to finish writing.

Mrs. Gamela didn't have a very good education, but her brother and father tried their hardest to make sure she could read and write the common plain language properly. They figured it would be useful, and for a woman in the Slums to be able to read...It wasn't actually necessary- until she began to  _use_  her mind. Her brain became her saving grace, and she read and practiced her handwriting every chance to make sure she could be useful for the rest of her life.

The girl finally manages to get the hair out of her face. She looks down at her paper again and it falls right back to where it was before. Mrs. Gamela jumps up, stomps to her bedside table and takes a hairbrush out from inside. She slams it shut again and marches to the startled child.

"Listen up brat!" Mrs. Gamela commands, lifting up Centola's chin. "A  _woman_  has many valuable assets. For some, it is their body, like that girl Shana. Others, it is their hair, which they use to accent their attractiveness, like the barista Yukino. And for some others, it is their face, or their pretty lips, or their voice, although that last one is more for your mother."

Mrs. Gamela combs Centola's long hair back, braiding it and producing a leather strap from her wrist to tie it. In all the years Mrs. Gamela knew her, Centola's hair grew like a weed. But it is flawless, no split ends and never seeming to be dirty. It was like she was born to be...Clean.

(Huh. What a strange thought.)

"But you, brat, are different. While you have pretty hair and a nice voice and I'm sure when you're older a beautiful face and body, the most valuable of your assets is your eyes." A drawer from the desk Centola sits in is opened and a hand mirror is produced, along with a green ribbon. Centola looks in the mirror handed to her and stares awkwardly at herself. Mrs. Gamela sees her innocent eyes stare back at themselves and she almost grins, even if she's already forgotten how to.

"You were blessed with your mother's eyes, Centola, and with the right training they can woo a man to do your bidding."

Centola looks at the older woman with surprise.

"You really think so?"

"Yes, I really do...Now," She ties the ribbon into a perfect bow over the leather strap and nods approvingly at her handy work. "Finish your sentence or you're not going to be able to play with those trouble makers Alibaba and Kassim today!"

* * *

**Year 8:** Lilliana's daughter intrigues Mrs. Gamela. She still isn't sure why she even agreed to tutor the child for free, but now thinks it has paid off. The girl works incredibly hard, memorizing words and sentences and all the rules and regulations of grammar that her teacher produces for her with ease. There is never a moment when her eyes aren't running over pages or her hand isn't darting elegantly over sheets of paper.

In the year since her learning began, Centola had read almost all the books in Mrs. Gamela's apartment and still strives to learn more. Mrs. Gamela has saved up her money and has bought more and more books to add to her collection. She's requiring Centola to go through more lessons than normal, installing in her subjects like geography and manners and how to address nobles.

The elderly woman doesn't  _have_  to help Centola. She doesn't  _have_  to waste her money on books and tell her about the rules of this intricate society, but there is a nagging sensation biting at her. It nips often at the back of her ankles, like an impatient hound wanting it's bone. She  _wants_  to help the eight year old. She  _needs_  to help the eight year old. Because Mrs. Gamela somehow knows that she will need these lessons for the future. Trying to explain that alone is an impossible thing.

She can only hope that what she is teaching is enough.

* * *

Lilliana has a special nickname among the Slums, a nickname that has yet to grace the ears of her child.

The Queen of the Slums.

It's a nickname that used to be held by Mrs. Gamela, but with time transferred to Lilliana. Lilliana isn't quite sure why she is called it. No, that isn't true. She knows why. But it is still unclear how it came to be hers.

She hadn't been born in the Slums like every other bottom feeder, but raised on the road. In light terms, her mother was an adventurer, and took her children around the world on a never ending cascade of wonder and awe. However, Lilliana didn't inherit her family's wandering spirit, and always dreamed to settle down in a city with a family of her own. Her mother never would've allowed such a thing as long as Lilliana was a child, though, so she had contented herself with her siblings and the wide world that she took for granted.

When Lilliana was ten, she realizes that there was something special about her. She was a singer, blessed with a voice that soared above mountains and skimed across rivers. When she grew old enough to leave on her own, Lilliana enticed people with her voice as an occupation. She even one day began to work at the Royal Palace of Balbadd. Nobles and commoners alike flocked to her, begging to hear her voice, it's wonderful euphoria giving all who heard it a high unlike anything else. The Royal Palace is also where she fell in love.

(She ended up lying about her child's parentage to Anise, saying it was 'just some man'. But she loved him too much to cheat. Lying to him would be impossible. But lying to protect Centola...Now that was something she could do.)

When she arrived in the Slums, the people welcomed her despite the child growing inside her stomach and entrusted her with her nickname. It made her laugh the first time she heard it, a strange and unwelcome bitterness rising in her chest. Honestly, she would rather to be the lowest on the food chain than be called the ruler of the unwelcome. But looking at her daughter, an eight-year-old growing girl, she wonders if that's really true. Her sweet baby girl, her little Centola is growing up and taking lessons from Mrs. Gamela.

It had surprised Lilliana when her boss announced that she was going to teach Centola to read. Lilliana knew that Mrs. Gamela was educated, but the very fact that she would even consider teaching Centola was unthinkable. Mrs. Gamela  _is_  a resentful woman who runs a dinky bar and ignores the requests from even the most tired of girls to have a day off.

So when Mrs. Gamela took the request of a seven-now-eight year old? Lilliana wondered had happened that might melt the former Slum Queen's heart. And then the answer came to her and she was shocked at how soon her daughter developed her gift.

That night, while Centola sleeps soundly, she holds her little girl close and kisses her head.

"I'm sorry, sweetie." She whispers breathlessly. "I'm so sorry. I thought...My mother said it wouldn't happen until you were older...I'm sorry about what I'm going to have to do."

Lilliana's eyes cloud with memories of a woman that looks like herself, a beauty with long brown hair and eyes of the most sparkling gems. She had skin that was tanned and glowed, and gracefulness that could make even swans jealous. Memories of her own mother, and Centola's grandmother. If her daughter doesn't have this done now, then all sorts of trouble will ensue, and that isn't something she can allow. Unfortunately, that means dragging both Anise and Alibaba into her mess.

She can only hope that Anise won't hate her if she ever finds out.

Lilliana begins to sing in one of her hypnotizing songs in a honey voice, and Centola shines a white glow. Lilliana may not have been blessed with the magic her mother has, but she can still preform a binding spell with surprising accuracy.

_"Oh girl of great beauty_

_And everlasting magic made by the stars themselves,_

_Glow with truth and happiness_

_Your King has come_

_Now praise the Gods_

_He is yours,_

_And you are his."_

She places her hand between her daughter's collar bones. The light flows over Centola's skin, gathering under her hand before adjusting and settling over the flesh. There's a flash and the white light slowly fades away, leaving a strange mark on her child's chest. Lilliana's hands fall to her sides and she lets loose a sigh she didn't know she was holding in.

"Centola..." She murmurs, and then, feeling drained and tired beyond belief, the Queen of the Slums falls asleep beside her child and hopes for a better tomorrow.

* * *

It's pretty, but entirely unexplainable. Looking in the mirror, Centola drags the top of her tunic down and stares at the tattoo in the center of her collar bone. A flower with a stem and leaf, shimmering gold, with a little sun and moon imprinted on the center where the pollen should have been. With her fingers she traces the lines of the petals and stem, wondering how it came to be.

_How will I explain this to mom?_

But her mother never says anything about it; doesn't even comment once.

* * *

"Wha...?" Anise says, looking at the mark her son shows her. It looks to be a sun with a dagger crossing over it on the right side of his chest, a tan colored tattoo.

"How did this happen?" She asks, and her son shakes his head, just as confused as she is. Anise huffs as realization strikes. "Alibaba, you better be able to wash this off! How many times have I told you not to put ink on your skin?"

"W-wha? It was my fault!"

"Don't blame your friends, mister!"

* * *

"Huh?" Kassim stares at the tattoo on the left side of his chest, surprise written all over his face. It's a moon, with a sword crossing over it on the left side. Though it's very interesting, Kassim fears for his masculinity.

"Please don't let the guys see this!"

* * *

"Please teach me!" Centola bows in front of her mother, hands at sides and eyes squeezing shut. To say that she is embarrassed and nervous is an understatement.

"...Of course!" Lilliana smiles down at her baby girl, who looks up, astonished and unbelieving. Lilliana can see how hard it has become for her to manipulate people to do her bidding now. She was forced to learn (with no notice) how to use her true feelings to get others to believe in her loyalty, a development that Lilliana has been happy to watch within her young daughter.

Lilliana is proud that her daughter was good at being trustworthy. It also makes her proud that Centola doesn't even seem to miss her short time of getting what she wanted. Lilliana has already seen one person loose themselves in that power, and she won't loose another person. Especially if that person is her little Centola.

_"Sister...Why is mother so cruel to us?"_

_"It's not like that, Lily. Mother...Just isn't good at keeping her eyes on the little things anymore."_

Lilliana leans down to Centola's height and smiles at her, tilting her head to the side.

"But you have to promise to work extra hard in order to take lessons." Centola nods, her eyes sharp and ready. Lilliana giggles and pats her soft hair lovingly.

"We'll start tomorrow. But for now, go and play with your friends!" At that moment, two little boys round the corner. One is golden haired Alibaba, looking like a kicked puppy (she has reason to suspect it's because Centola isn't paying him any attention). The other boy is the black haired and shifty eyed Kassim, the one that Anise has taken in after his good-for-nothing father disappeared (not that she's surprised, he's a dead beat that happens to actually  _beat_  his children. He could burn in Hell for all she cares).

Kassim spots Centola standing beside her mother and calls out.

"OI! Cent, get your butt over here!" Centola looks reluctant but Lilliana holds her self a bit higher and pretends to scold her sweet daughter.

"Go on! If you don't go play I'm not gonna teach you!" Centola pales and takes off, joining her two friends. Lilliana watches how she is pulled into a 'friendly' hug by Alibaba, and then after getting half-suffocated she wraps her little arms around Kassim's waist and burrows her face into his tunic. He turns his head away from them as Alibaba pouts and make a go for one of her hands.

But even from where she is standing Lilliana can see one of two things.

One, she can see the blush across Kassim's tan cheeks.

Two, she can see how under his tunic, where his heart is, there is a tattoo-like mark.

Her head jerks over to Alibaba, where a similar tattoo is hidden under his sack-like clothing.

She backs up and almost trips as she disappears into her house. She slides down the wall and wipes away the sweat on her forehead with the back of her (shaking) hands. Why didn't she remember about Kassim? Why didn't she notice the way his eyes lit up when they stared at Centola? Why was she so stupid as to not specifically address the one she meant to seal that power in during the spell!? But even as she scolds herself, she can't help but laugh slightly at how silly it all is.

_So now an eight year old little girl has two little brats in love with her, huh?_

* * *

A week later, both all three marks disappeared from the children's skin, but not from their hearts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please, review! (Though I don't know how comments work here...I should read a manual.) 
> 
> ALSO: I hope I didn't offend anyone with the paragraph about her name. It's just that most people I know don't like their name and always wish their parents would have chosen something else, which is sorta the reason I decided to put it in there. If your name is Jane, then I apologize and didn't mean to offend or insult you. :(
> 
> AND: I've had mix-ups before (CoughonfanfictionCough) where people believed that I was being sexist in this chapter; I am not. I've edited this a lot so that I could make it clear: historically, women were pretty much objects. In certain parts of Magi they've expressed that. Which is why, in the Slums, I didn't want to pretend her being female didn't mean anything, and such I've had Jane/Centola discuss that. However, I did make sure to note that while using their physical features and bodies is how many girls dealt with their situations, being smart and using their heads was another very important skill. Still, if I offended you, I deeply apologize. That was never my intention *bows*.
> 
> And on that note...
> 
> BYE~~~~~~~


	3. Of Good Farewells and Bad Goodbyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Centola continues her new life as a reincarnated soul. But with things getting harsher and harsher, how will she cope with the betrayal of a loved one?

**Starry Skies**

**By Gold Sparrow**

**FIRST ARC:**  The Temptress of Balbadd

CHAPTER 2: Of Good Farewells and Bad Goodbyes

* * *

**Year 8:** _It's terrifying._

She watches, the rain pouring down on her tiny shoulders, as Kassim's father beats him.

A punch there, a shove here, and she feels like she's going to throw up. She blinks away tears and tries to understand why she can't make him stop. There is no warmth in her heart that usually helps her charm people, and without it she just feels scared and alone. Her friend is being beaten in the cold by his very own father, and all she can do is watch. She cowers behind the wall and forces herself to breath normally, needing to be stable for at least a second. Kassim had pushed her over to the safety of the wall the minute his father raised his giant fist.

"Go!" He had yelled, and Centola couldn't seem to comprehend what that meant. She was distracted by the hand coming down and the rain trailing across her face, the desert shower having had come out of nowhere in a cloudburst. Kassim had been taking her home since it was raining, the sky gray and flat and not letting the sun peak through the curtain of iron.

_Kassim...Kassim...Kassim!_

Centola lets out a dry sob. Tears, hot and wet, slip down her cheeks. They mix with the coolness of the raindrops, the two separate entities mixing together to form rivers down her face.

_Oh God, please make it stop...Please!_

She begs with any God there is to save her friend. She knows what this is,  _understands_  what is going to happen, but she doesn't  _want_  it to happen. Kassim's father stops and turns slightly, shoving Kassim into the mud. He begins to walk in her direction. She sobs again and presses herself against the wall as Kassim's father comes closer. He lumbers toward her like a bear, a dangerous grin stretching from ear to ear.

Her braid is caught in his big, meaty hand and he pulls her out in front of Kassim. The tears have stopped momentarily, but they freeze in her eyes, the pain of her scalp causing more to build up. She can't see with them there, but can make out the blurry form of Kassim struggling to get up.

"K-Kassim..." She whispers, scared and frightened and suddenly feeling just like a little girl. Centola  _is_  a little girl, even if she was a genius who was reborn after she died. She died a teenager, only a child still. The man laughs loudly at her meager plea for help. He tugs on her braid some more and rants to Kassim about how he was supposed to get some booze for him. Kassim yells something back but Centola doesn't understand what he is saying. It's all harsh words and pain and those hot tears clogging up her eyes.

"Hey...Where's Mariam? She could attract a few costumers at the ring."  _That_  she understood all too well. This is the part where this...This monster tries to sell Mariam as a prostitute, even though she is only four years old. "Yeah! She could join in with this little bitch!" He laughs, and Centola feels cold all over.

_What? No...No...NO!_

"Kassim!" Centola screams as the monstrous man pulls her braid in an attempt to pull her away.

The knife is plunged deep into the older adult's side and there's more blood than Centola was expecting. Vaguely she feels a drop land on her cheek as her hair is released, relief flooding through her pained scalp as the messy, wet braid falls as limply as Kassim's father's body onto her shoulder. The life drains from his eyes, but a smile that's as twisted as a roller coaster is spread like butter across his face. His deep voice still speaks, almost calming, almost soothing.

"You're as bad as me, Kassim, just another slum bastard who'll never be worth a damn." He grunts and moans, twitching and writhing in the mud as his blood pools around him. And then...Nothing. Centola really does think she's going to throw up, but she holds it in and instead looks at Kassim, his hand bloody and the knife still in glued to his fingers.

Her sob breaks him out of his daze. The rain is hard and unforgiving and nobody in the slums can hear the children way over their heads out in the rain, one crying hysterically and the other trying to console her.

Kassim reaches out with his (clean) hand and strokes her hair.

"Don't cry, Centola...It'll all be okay...It'll all be okay." Centola buries her face in the crook of his neck and sobs until there's no more tears. She lays still in his arms and almost asks if she'll always smell the blood and liquor stuck inside her nose forever.

* * *

Kassim washes his hands in the flowing river and the knife flows away with the undertow.

Centola reaches down and washes hers as well. Her wet fingers rub at her cheek until it's clean and red. The sun comes out from behind the clouds, the rain passing the city buy as the clouds disintegrate into thin air. It's sunset and the world is all gold, but for the first time Centola truly understands why nobody notices it. The constant pulling of guilt threatens to sweep her away like the rushing of the tide and she can feel the tears come again. They coast down her cheeks silently and Kassim reaches out a hand like he wants to wipe them away. But he can still see the blood on those fingers and goes right back to washing, furiously scrubbing at every inch of skin.

Centola looks up at the taller boy, wondering how it all came to this. Slowly she inches closer and wraps her arms around his waist, resting her head in the place between his shoulder blades, hugging him. She can feel how tense he is, how much he'd like her to give him space. But this is the only thing that she can think to do, the only thing that feels right.

(Nothing can justify death. And that's a crushing fact, in scenarios such as this.)

"I-It...It's alright Kassim," She murmurs as soothingly as she can, holding him tight, "Please...If you have to cry, then let me cry with you."

He turns and takes her into his arms and hugs her, a damp spot developing on her shoulder as she weeps into his neck.

_He's only a child...I'm only a child..._

The sun glows as it bows it's head on the horizon.

* * *

**Year 9:** Centola learns many things while living in this world. She learns how to lie, she learns to be truthful, she learns to read and write. Her mother taught her how to sing and dance, and they often practice in front of the mirrors at the bar and at their home. She can't be very sure, but she thinks that she is rather good at singing. But the most important thing Centola thinks she learned would be the art of goodbyes.

Anise has gotten sick.

Their house is a in a shroud of sadness, Kassim and Alibaba refusing to face the reality of the situation and Mariam too naïve to realize what is even going on with her adoptive mother.

Centola knows what is going to happen.

Centola goes into their house and greets Alibaba and Kassim with a small smile. Alibaba's eyes are stuck on the form of his mother and Kassim gives her a solemn nod. The atmosphere is suffocating, the boys loitering around as they wonder what to do, while Mariam plays with a doll and looks between the older kids and Anise with an uncertain expression.

Anise lays on a cot in the corner, a pillow pushing her up as she motions to Centola to come over to her. The blond girl walks over to the black haired woman and sits next to her, smiling softly down at the once young woman. Anise's eyes shine but the rest of her is older than it's suppose to be, hands thin and frail, veins making long, visible marks up her skin. Her arms and legs and general  _body_  look fatigued, while her posture is hunched over like an elderly woman. Centola takes Anise's now cold hands and murmurs softly to her,

"I'll take care of Alibaba and Kassim, Auntie...I promise." Anise looks at Centola and nods, her brown eyes turning glassy.

"You're the only one here that seems to understand, Centola," She whispers, making sure her voice is quite enough that the other kids can't hear her. "It's because you're so smart. You've always had an intelligent glint in your eye, but lately..." She begins to cough, a wet sound that resonates throughout through the house. Alibaba makes a move forward to help her but she raises a hand and waves him off.

"I'm fine, Alibaba...Please, you and Kassim go outside. I need to talk to Centola for a moment." Alibaba opens his mouth to say something, but Kassim grabs his arm and drags him outside, Mariam tottering after them faithfully.

"Anyway...You've changed Centola. You're eyes no longer give away your brains. You always say the polite, appropriate thing. It's because of the lessons, isn't it? Or maybe you're just smart enough to know how to." Anise chuckles but it isn't the kind, gentle giggle that she usually emits. No, it's a hard, raspy(, old) sound and Centola strokes her hand to sooth her. "Please Centola...Make sure Kassim, Alibaba and Mariam are safe. I'm going to die, but they'll live...They have to...Please, Centola, protect my precious children!"

Centola doesn't cry, doesn't smile. She lets her strong façade go and instead shows her real feelings. She shows a gentle face with sad eyes and a matching frown, not the bright eyed and smiley girl she's know for. She lets Anise see the old soul she was, the mature adult who's serious and sure.

"I'll do it, Auntie. I'll protect them all, it's the truth." Anise looks like she's about to cry when she stares at the girl in front of her. "But until we meet again, goodbye, Auntie, I'll miss you so much."

Anise smiles sadly and nods, leaning back on the cot.

"Goodbye, Centola...I love you like a daughter, you know." Centola doesn't say a thing, but the corners of her mouth twitch upward and Anise knows that Centola feels the same way she does.

* * *

Anise dies a few days later.

* * *

Alibaba's a mess, and Kassim's quiet, his eyes unusually sharp. Mariam comes crying to her, eyes bright red. Centola has never seen her this upset since her dad was around.

_He's dead now. We killed him. I killed him._

Mariam tells her what happened and Centola picks up the younger, smaller girl and runs to their house a little way down the road. She enters the house and sees Kassim standing still as stone as Alibaba cries over Anise's corpse, sobs rattling his bones. Centola's eyes soften and she gently places Mariam on the floor, the five year old grabbing the back of Centola's rags that vaguely resemble a dress as she goes to Alibaba.

The golden haired boy sits on the ground, trying to hide his tears as he hiccups and sobs. Centola sits on the floor beside him and takes his hand. He looks startled to see her, but she uses that to her advantage. Centola pulls him into a hug and the older boy instantly clings to her. She pats his back and strokes his hair.

"Don't be sad, Ali. Auntie is in a better place now, she'll never have to suffer again. I know it hurts, but we will get through this...We all will." Alibaba looks up at Centola, who smiles sorrowfully at him. "You, Kassim, Mariam, my mother and I. We are a team, and we'll all work together, okay?"

Alibaba nods slightly and Mariam sniffs loudly. Centola opens up her arms.

"Come here, Mariam, get in!" Mariam does so with gusto and Centola tightens her grip on them. Turning her head and giving Kassim a tiny smile gets him to move forward as well, sitting behind Centola and wrapping his longer arms around his little sister and mourning friend.

"Yeah," he agrees roughly "We're a team... Don't cry. I'll take care of you."

* * *

_Ah, let's see, apples, apples..._

Lilliana searches through the stand, finally finding the fruit her daughter had asked so sweetly for. She plops a few into her basket for the children and pays the storekeeper, turning to search for Shana. The woman is busy flirting with a man over the counter at another booth, making Lilliana chuckle. The lively market of Balbadd always brings Lilliana such joy.

The thriving cultural center is always filled with people bargaining and smiling and cracking jokes. It's a meeting place where all the classes intertwine as they search for goods and food. The smell of spices and sweet fruit drifts low in the air, overwhelming the senses of anything but the temptation of taste. The stomping of horse-shoes against stone signals to her the incoming carriage squeezing through the market, carrying rich tourists undoubtedly. Lilliana moves to go and rescue Shana from "falling in love" with the creep hitting on her, a smile and apology already prepared.

Then, she's pushed.

It could've been an accident. It  _could've_.

But it was so  _hard._

She stumbles back, loosing her footing instantly. Her gaze catches onto Shana's, the woman's smile freezing on her face. Then, she's not looking at Shana at all. She's looking into the face of her precious older sister, who's always there when things are rough and the world isn't fair. Her little sisters too, their little faces pressing against her own and their hands tangling in her hair as they sleep. Hands like that man's, that man whom she loves. He's always so  _shy_  but so  _sweet_ , earnestly trying to win her love even though he already had it the moment their eyes met for the first time.

His red-wine hair, a beautiful color, slipping through her fingers as she pulls apart from their embrace, choosing to take his hand instead. She leads him through the gardens of the Palace she's grown to love, pointing out her favorites and her little sisters' favorites and the flowers her older sister planted herself. He laughs at every joke she tells, and awkwardly, lamely, but oh-so-gently, makes gentle implications that he wants to meet them and have them meet  _his_ family and,  _perhaps Lily, maybe you'd like to see Sasan. I'm sure it's boring compared to the things you've seen, but it's simple and lovely and- ah, well, nothing is more lovely than you, but..._

She should've gone with him, she thinks bitterly. There is no way that she can be bitter about the life she has with her daughter and her friends, but loosing him was such a great pain, a pain that wounds her still. Rules and rituals be damned, she wouldn't have been  _that_ far along by the time they arrived in Sasan. And he would've married her, he promised her that just two sentences after she told him she was pregnant and asked for his opinion. Those two sentences were,  _please, Lily, don't kill our baby_ ( _God no, I wouldn't do such a thing!)_ and  _Thank God._ But she was ashamed of who she was and knew if she had gone to Sasan the King would notice her- the famous story of Darius Leoxses and her older sister's feuds are still being told.

But if push came to shove-

Her eyes widen.

_He...He would've stayed here with me._

Ah, but that hurts, so she casts it aside. Their is still so much more to think about, to contemplate as she hovers in mid air, strands of her hair floating slowly up around her. She's still falling, but slowly, like sinking through the thick water of the ocean. To her side, the wheels of the carriage crawl close, little flowers carved into the wood. Before her, melding into the shadows of an alley, the man who pushed her flees from his crime. He doesn't allow her to see his face, shielding it with a viel held to his head by a crown of thorns.

What else is there before you die, Lilliana?

Oh, well, there is that wonderful person. Their scent when they were born, so small and beautiful. Their eyes, so like her's, their hands curling around her brown hair and holding on tight. That child, that girl, who wrapped tightly around her at night and clung to her when she was sleepy. That daughter, who has a voice like an angel's and eyes that are so utterly intelligent even as she tries to hide it. What a beauty, what a gentle child, what a lovable, perfect being that she created. So pure and bright and warm-

 _Time's up_.

* * *

_It's not suppose to be like this. It's not real. My mother is...No. It's not. No._

She doesn't believe it. Even as the evidence is right in front of her and Shana tries to explain, she doesn't listen. Kassim touches her shoulder and Alibaba tries to take her hand, but she shakes them off, confused and angry. She puts a hand to her forehead and presses, then takes it off and scratches her arm instead.

The green eyed girl fidgets, then collapses in front of the still form that is-  _was_  her mother.

"Mom...?" She asks, feeling stupid and silly and incredibly lonely. She takes her mother's cold, smooth hand and presses her lips to it. Tears live in her eyes but she doesn't let them go. She uses her fingers to comb her mother's messy brown hair and rubs her cheek before speaking again.

"I love you, Mom...I'm sorry I couldn't help you...I'll...I'll be..."

_Mommy...Mommy...Please wake up..._

Her voice doesn't crack, but she takes a shaky breath that's deep and unsettling. Her insides feel like they are frozen up, her arms and legs seeming to be awkward and strange. For some reason the world seems too big for her and just a bit darker, somehow. She finally continues on.

"I will be strong...And I want you to know that I will be good" She presses her mother's hand to her cheek "Goodbye, Mom...I really, really love you.  _So much_."

She stares at her mother for what feels like days before attempting to get up. After a few tries she succeeds and her gaze falls to her mother's white face and closed eyes, hair now carefully fanned out. Even in death her mother is so beautiful, even if her neck is twisted in a strange way and her entire body is devoid of warmth.

The girl stumbles back to Alibaba and Kassim, trying hard not to look at their pitying faces. Her heart feels like a hand had reached in and torn away apart of it, creating a hole right in the center of her being.

She lets Alibaba pull her into a hug and Kassim joins them. The little girl hugs them and lets the tears trail down her cheeks.

* * *

Lilliana had been pushed in front of a passing horse and carriage, instantly breaking her neck. Her last thought was about her daughter, Centola.

* * *

She doesn't cry when they bury her mother next to Anise. She doesn't cry because she has already used up all her tears. Centola made a promise a long time ago to herself that she would be strong for Kassim and Alibaba, so she tries her best to be the strongest of all of them.

She mourns silently and moves into Alibaba's house, taking her few meager possessions with her. She sleeps in a cot with Mariam and in the mornings gets up early to make breakfast. Centola assumes the role of their (younger) guardian, cooking and cleaning along with stitching and washing their clothes when they're ripped and dirtied. She grows up fast and smiles warmly (albeit a little sweetly too) at the others and tells them that if they get in trouble they aren't going the special dessert she bought after dinner.

It doesn't curb the pain, but pretending to be happy makes everything feel a bit dream-like.

Centola takes over her mother's job at the bar. Mrs. Gamela still teaches her a few meager things here and there, but Centola's life is now focused primarily on dancing and singing and getting home before her friends (family) to straighten up the house and light a fire for dinner. She works hard, maybe too hard, and within all those duties and responsibilities, she finds herself a purpose that helps build up resilience against the curse of death knocking at her heart.

_Is this how Alibaba felt? Is this how everyone feels?_

She supposes you have to be an orphan to understand what being an orphan is like.

The food she has is usually something small but filling, thanks to the bag of coins Mrs. Gamela gives her once a week. Alibaba, Kassim and Mariam bring in a few coins from their odd jobs, but it's Centola who took charge. She promised Anise and her mother, after all. She often wonders when the king is coming, and what will happen afterwards. Alibaba will be gone (would she see him again?) and it's a hard thing to process, even though she knows it is essential to the plot.

 _Am I essential to the plot? Was Mom dying_  essential _to the plot? Oh dear God, why did you kill my mother?_

Thinking about it makes her head and heart hurt really badly, so she stops and focuses on her routine.

On the just slightly brighter side, Kassim's father was right. Despite barely being nine, men flock to the tavern and to watch her, mesmerized as she dances and sings loudly and proudly, just like her mother taught her to. The extra men brought extra cash, as well. Today Shana braids her hair in a crown around her head and adds a green chain to hang across her forehead, a bright emerald gem shaped like a rain droplet placed delicately on the center of her forehead.

"Thank you, Shana." Centola says, and Shana smiles at her, regret twisting her face. It internally makes Centola cringe and become filled with sadness, but the outside her ignores it.

"No problem...Good luck!" Shana forces herself to look directly at her and Centola finds it almost sad how she thinks she can pretend not to feel guilty about Lilliana's death.

_It's not your fault. She was in a market place with you, but you didn't push her in front of the merchant. You're not to blame._

Centola pulls on her green dress and ties a light pink sash around her waist, warming up her voice as she changes. She does the scales and some vocal exercises her mother told her to do before every performance. Taking in her view in the mirror after putting on some gloss on her lips, Centola decides she looks good. Barely nine but rather pretty, if she may say. Her long, waist length hair could be tamed into any hairstyle and every color she wore matched her eyes. She is as tall as Kassim now, and her willowy grace leads to performances that make people cheer and roar excitedly.

But her looks weren't her only asset.

She is still a prodigy of sorts, hiding her smarts from only those closest to her. She still remembers how to speak Spanish and French and her times tables are flawless. To practice some days she translates every thing she heard into a different language and other days she recites the names of the chemicals in the periodic table of elements by stating their number of neutrons, protons, electrons and what they are commonly found in. But really, it doesn't matter much (for now) while working hard day after day in the Slums.

When she comes on stage, drunks and sober men alike cheer and jeer, stamping their feet and spilling their drinks on the women around them. Centola takes her place (one leg lifted above the other with her foot pointed), and lifts her arms up.

When the music hits the right beat, she begins to twirl across the stage and stops suddenly, both arms extended to her sides.

_"Hear me, hear me,_

_Can't you see me?_

_I'm on top of the world."_

Centola sings her heart out onstage, lyric after lyric turning into song after song and dance after dance. This is her life now, hips moving in rhythm and lips spewing music that she had memorized the moment she first heard her mother sing them to her a long, long time ago.

* * *

With an increase of customers came a limit, and to break that limit, Mrs. Gamela has her start working nights instead of days. Nights, she reasons, means that more men can come into the bar with a pocket full of drinking dough. She doesn't like it at first, but Mrs. Gamela adds a few extra coins to her payment and all is well again.

Alibaba disagrees anyway.

"Why should you have to work so late?" he askes, eating the stew Centola has made earlier for them. Kassim sits quietly on the floor, eating as well. Mariam seemed interested in the conversation and Centola pursues her lips, wondering how to tell him about the effects of late nights, large quantities of alcohol and sex appeal.

"It's my job, Ali. Besides, this way I can spend the days with you all instead of only seeing you in the mornings and evenings."

"But..." Alibaba seems at a loss for words, all sorts of emotions crossing over his face. "You're just as young as us, Cent! Having a job like yours is crazy!"

Centola gathers her empty bowl and sets it aside, planning on later going to the river to wash them. She stands, knowing she has to go soon. She smiles at Alibaba, who stares up at her, eyes filled with anger. Maybe it isn't anger at her, but at life for making his dear friend have to work so hard to protect him.

"Ali, you're right. I'm nine. But then again, you're ten, Kassim's eleven, and Mari is six."

"Almost seven!" Mariam giggles, smiling. Her brother grins at her, and Centola laughs. Alibaba looks away, not finding the joy in the situation.

"But the fact of the matter is that we all have a role to fill in our team. Kassim and you do odd jobs and I work at the bar. When you two are old enough maybe you can work on the buildings with the construction workers. Then, perhaps we can get enough money for a real house and three meals a day!" Kassim and Alibaba's faces sour, but they smile at Centola's enthusiasm. Said girl jumps around, arms open and eyes closed, dreaming about the life they could have. She stops and grabs Alibaba's hands, spinning him around. They both laugh and Centola pulls him closer when they stop, leaning in close as if sharing a secret.

"We'll have a nice little place- maybe with a room for me and Mariam and a room for Kassim and you," She motions to Mariam and Kassim, and they stand, running over to hear her spin a tale of tomorrow, "I'll still work nights but Mariam and I could make you boys good meals and we all will wear nice clothes!"

She pulls Mariam away, and they take a few loose rags from the floor and tie them around their waists like skirts. They both take respective boys, Mariam grabbing at the way taller Alibaba and Centola using her dance experience to spin gracefully into Kassim's clumsy arms. They all dance around in a silly form of a waltz, though Centola doubts that any of them really know what that is. Mariam laughs and cries in delight,

"Big Sis! Continue!" Centola smiles widely then pretends to faint, Kassim scrambling to catch her.

"We'll soon be living in luxury! Mari, you'll be a seamstress, the best in Balbadd! As for the boys, you'll take your, um, respective jobs of your choosing and people say you're the very best in the entire world! And I, well, I'll become a big time singer and dancer, preforming for everyone to see; men, women, rich, poor, anyone and everyone!"

Centola is out of Kassim's grasp and she picks up Mariam, running around their house with the six year old high in the air, both girls screaming with joy. Kassim and Alibaba are laughing and it feels so much like a home that Centola wants to cry. This moment, full of happiness and light-hearted giggling, is truly magic. There is no other joy than the sudden, golden moment that she knows she'll never forget.

When she tires, Mariam is placed on the ground and Centola hugs Alibaba, smiling widely.

"See? It may be hard now, but soon, we'll all be happy...I promise, Ali!" She can't see his face but can feel the grin. Mariam takes her brother's hands and then they are all waltzing again, Alibaba this time with Centola. Centola picks up the edge of her rag/skirt and pretends that she's not blushing wildly. Alibaba has one hand on her waist and the other holding her hand. Every thing feels right, and Centola can't help but feel like maybe things won't be so bad if what she describes actually comes true.

* * *

Kassim dances with his sister, little Mariam trying to copy Centola's natural ability to dance. Speaking of said girl, he stares across the room, at the girl with the long braid and ratty dress, Alibaba gliding across the shack with her.

Kassim suddenly can't think of anything more prefect than them. Alibaba, with his golden looks and Centola, with her beauty and grace. They look like they were made to be together, but maybe that's because of who they are. They both had kind, gentle mothers whose blood course through them, making them...pure. But not Kassim. Kassim was unlucky enough to be born with the blood of his disgusting father, and he...He's going to end up just like him. No matter what tale Centola makes up, no matter what plans they promise to execute.

He pretends to have fun, but something that's black and green and ugly sprouts up from his lungs and blocks his throat, making it impossible to speak without tearing up.

Jealousy.

That's what it is. Yes, that must be it. Because instantly Kassim wishes that he could be the one dancing with her again, smiling like they were in their own little world. He wishes that he could be close enough to stare straight into her green eyes and see what she's thinking instead of his reflection, like it usually is.

* * *

It's a sunny, beautiful day their lives begin to break.

* * *

"A-Ali?" The boy looks up from the string bracelets he was working on with Mariam as Centola enters their house, her eyes glued to her hands that twist the rag she uses to clean the dishes.

"Centola? What's wrong?" Centola gulps, and even from the distance Alibaba can see how pale she is. He gets up and walks closer, reaching out and feeling her forehead. "Are you sick? You don't look very well."

Centola won't look at him.

"Where's...Where's Kassim?" The older blond can feel the irritation build within him at the mention of his adoptive brother.

"He's probably out again with those guys he hangs out with...I swear! If he keeps-" Centola squeezes his arm and Alibaba lowers his voice so Mariam can't hear him speak "- _stealing_ , things are going to become rocky around here."

Centola puts her hand to her forehead, and for the first time Alibaba notices the tears in her eyes. He takes a step back and then forward again, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

"D-did you guys get into a fight? Oh...um...I'll, er, try and-" Centola shakes her head.

"I didn't get in a fight with Kassim, Ali...But there's...there's a very important person who wants to see you."

"What? Who?" Centola looks him in the eyes and something unreadable is flashings across the green depths. She suddenly hugs him tight, burrowing her face into his shoulder. He is unsure whether or not to hug her back or demand an explanation. Centola has always been motherly, affectionate and a  _major_  hugger, but this seems like she's doing it to remember what it feels like.

"It's the King." She whispers, and Alibaba freezes.

"W-wha...? That's a funny j-joke Centola!" Alibaba laughs uncomfortably but Centola moves back and motions outside.

"Mariam, sweetie, Ali and I have some business to take care of." Mariam is too wrapped up in her work to notice Centola's honeyed voice shake, but she does nod and grin, holding up a red and blue bracelet.

"Okay, Big Sis! Look! I'm almost finished with it" Centola nods and hums in appreciation.

"It's wonderful, sweetheart," Then Centola leads Alibaba outside, her legs shaking with every step. Alibaba himself moves cautiously, taking in his surroundings like he never noticed them before. The people are huddled in the shadows, watching with razor sharp eyes and fearful glances at the guards that surround a fancy carriage. One of them walks forward and completely ignores Centola, his attention solely on Alibaba.

"Are you the boy Alibaba? Someone wants to see you." Alibaba can't say anything, and even if he did there wouldn't be anything he could think of saying. He can only follow the guard to the carriage and look back once to see Centola with her back to him, gripping onto the curtain that serves as their door.

* * *

Centola waits patiently as Alibaba explains his encounter with the King to Kassim, Mariam and her. She stays standing while the others sit, hands clasping one another in front of her, lips pressing together even as she tries to relax.

"I knew it." Centola's bangs falls in front of her eyes, covering half of her face as she listens to the two boys speak.

"Huh?" Alibaba asks, confused and a little hurt. Kassim sighs and proceeds to tell Alibaba the words Centola has been dreading for years.

"I always wondered why a guy like you was in the Slums."

"Wh-What do you mean?"

"Oh give me a break! I could never make you one of the crew...Because it didn't feel right. You didn't steal. You never do anything wrong. You're always alone, playing the saint. We've been different since birth!  _So Get Lost!"_ Centola remains still the whole time, standing back as they begin to fight, Alibaba giving Kassim a good 'thrashing'.

When they finally separate, Centola is walking away, already at the other end of the street. She can feel their stares as she leaves.

"Cent!" Alibaba yells, but she ignores him. She doesn't know where she is going, but for some reason can't stand to stay at her home anymore. Faintly, she can hear the thumping of feet as they begin to run toward her. And Centola breaks into a mad dash, sprinting down the junkyard town and dodging the junkyard people and doing what she does best: escaping from what scares her.

* * *

It's late afternoon when Kassim and Alibaba find her. Centola had found her way back to a building they used to play in when they were young. She's staring at the sky, wondering how long it would take to escape to the plains. Perhaps she could join with the Kouga clan, milking cows and fighting with the Kou Empire over land agreements. She couldn't, not realistically, but it's nice to think about.

Alibaba is first to emerge onto the roof. He too takes a look at the sky, squinting against the sun. Then, he spots her sitting on the edge, staring straight up.

"Centola? Centola!" He cries with delight, running over to her. Centola didn't acknowledge him, merely continuing to cloud-gaze.

"You're leaving." She whispers softly. Alibaba flinches and kicks his foot on the rough stone.

"I guess I am," He agrees, sighing. "But...Why'd ya run? We were all so worried about you, Cent!" She gets to her feet, looking at his torn and dusty tunic.

"I don't...I'm sorry for running Ali. I was just a little overwhelmed was all."

_Please don't leave me, Alibaba. I can't handle loosing another person I love!_

"It's alright, Centola," Kassim grumbles from the doorway, entering with a dirty look shot straight at Alibaba. Alibaba pointedly ignores him and Centola takes her braid in her hands, following the crisscross of the hair.

"I..." And then she remembers what she promised Anise before she died. What would Anise want for Alibaba? To continue living in this trash heap of a neighborhood? The answer wasn't what Centola likes, but its the right one. "I hope you learn a lot, Ali!" Centola smiles widely, clasping her shaking hands behind her back. Then she turns the smile to Kassim, narrowing her eyes.

"What was that I heard about a... 'Crew'?" Kassim pales and looks away. Centola wants to believe that he had just been avoid conversation of it, but now her suspicions that he thought she wouldn't notice are confirmed.

"It's nothing, Cent."

"Oh, we are having a looooong talk when we get back home."

(Three return to their house together for the last time.)

* * *

The carriage takes Alibaba away later that evening.

Centola distinctly remembers the shiny wheels and perfect paint, the boy who wears rags getting in, sitting across from a very regal man.

She also remembers the last hug he gives her, tight and warm. She remembers how he whispers into her ear,

"I'll miss you so much, Cent."

She remembers how, before she could even think about what she was saying, she whispers,

"I've had a crush on you for a long time, Alibaba." The surprise on his face just makes her smile more, and she pushes him into the guards, who instantly surround him.

* * *

She's still nine when Alibaba left, and she knows that she has five years before he comes back. Five years to save her friends, and possibly salvage her dreams.

_But sometimes, Fate is a cruel mistress._

* * *

**Year 10:** "I'm just saying Kassim, I don't think it's a good idea!" She exclaims, folding the cloth that Mariam had finished embroidering. "What do you expect to get out of stealing?" Kassim sits on their dirty, beat up rug, polishing his dagger while Centola rants. It's not often she lectures the boy, and it's not often that she gets this upset, but Kassim has been stealing more and more lately and she is fed up with trying to speak peacefully with him.

"What do you think's going to happen? I'm  _good_  at it, Cent! Yes, it's not the most  _glamorous_  job but-"

"Job? Job?! That is not a  _job_ , that's just a pass time." She growls, stepping toward him dangerously, anger bubbling to the surface. He stands too, leaving the dagger lying on the rug. He matches Centola with each step. He's bigger than her, taller and wider. Granted, they were both starved children in the Slums, but Kassim's always been a step above of Centola and Alibaba in terms of growth. Still, Centola doesn't waver.

"It provides, doesn't it?" His eyes are wild and his voice as hard as steel. She continues to hold her ground, determined to get him to actually listen to her for once. He has kept his crew a secret from her and now treats her like she is too dumb to understand. She knows how to read and write, she knows mathematics and geography, and she  _knows_  that she is a  _lot_  more clever than him, so how  _dare_  he try to pull this off on her!

_Why isn't he listening!?_

"What's going to happen once you get caught?"

"I'm not, that's what I'm saying!"

"Oh, like you've  _never_  been caught before."

"I want to give Mariam and you a good life!" Centola closes her mouth opens it again, gulping before turning her back to him. She covers her eyes with her hands, trying to process what he's saying. It takes several long moments of silence and deep breaths to calm herself down, the shouts still vibrating in her ears. She removes her hands and turns around again, now completely serious.

"Is nothing I say going to get through to you?" He presses his lips together tightly until they turn white.

"No." He murmurs. Centola sighs, tears collecting in her green orbs. All the anger from before is gone and what is left is just a empty feeling that resembles a blackhole eating away at her happiness.

"Kassim," She begins to cry, and Kassim steps forward, smoothing down her hair with his large, calloused hands. Hands that have held knifes, stolen and killed. Hands that have guided her, helped her up and brushed away her tears.

"I'm so sorry Centola...But...But a man like me just isn't made to listen to a woman like you."

"..."

"Your pure, Cent. You still keep your pride and virtue, never allowing others to get you down. But me...I'm rotten to the core, filled with my father's sins." He places his hands on her shoulders to make sure she looks him straight in the eye. "A guy like me might want to follow your path, but I know I'll go right back to what I was doing before hand. I can't lie to you, Cent. I'm gonna keep stealing, because it's the only thing I can do. So please, don't cry because of the truth, just accept that it is what it is."

"..."

_I can't do that, Kassim, because I want to save you._

* * *

_How could they do this to us?!_

Segregation truly is a horrible thing. When she was Jane, she had never given much thought to it because she knew that it wouldn't ever happen to her. Now the experiencing is slapping her across the face.

The soldiers pay no mind to them as they shuffle in, zombie-like, to the walled prison. It's a cramped, disgusting place with little to no houses available and huge walls to make sure no one can get in or out. Kassim, Mariam and her all race and claim a small, dusty hut with holes in the walls and barley a place to cook. The soldiers didn't let anyone bring anything in, but Centola managed to sneak in a small bag of coins and a couple loafs of bread. Kassim had hid his sister's sewing supplies and a few pieces of fabric. Mariam had gotten a few apples in.

Centola knows that they're going to cut off access to the market and restric goods coming in and out of their new 'home'.

_I can do without the goods, but the market...What will we do for food...?!_

It's almost as if they're purposefully trying to starve their own people to death. Being lower class doesn't mean that they're cockroaches, no matter what those in the markets who sneer at her sputter. Mariam puts the apples by the fireplace and looks around the old structure that they had claimed as their own. She faces toward the two older kids and launches into Centola's arms, whimpering like a kicked puppy.

"Big Sis!" She cries, a frown taking over her innocent face. "We did we have to leave? What are they going to do to us?" Centola leans down and wipes tears from her soft cheeks, humming a melody under her breath. When Mariam calms down and she finally has an answer to give, she starts to speak.

"Don't you worry about that, Mariam," The strawberry blonde reaches up and pulls on Kassim's tunic until he leans down as well, his always serious eyes looking straight at her. "Kassim and I will take care of it. Until then, we all need to keep working hard to protect one another.  _And_  also help everyone else from the Junkyard. If we want to survive we need to help one another." Mariam nods slowly and Kassim's face visibly darkens, a secret conversation occurring between the two older kids as they engage in a staring match.

"Mariam, start setting up shop, me and Cent need to have a chat." Kassim growls, getting up and pulling Centola out of their house. When he effectively drags her away from their new home and the guards, he glares at her and begins to speak.

"What about my crew?"

"...That's..." She can feel the hot anger traveling from her head to her toes, hands fisting and teeth grinding together. " _That's_  what you care about?!" She nearly shouts, coming close enough to him to make him hit a wall behind him out of surprise. "I thought you'd be worried about food or  _maybe_  the fact that we've been put in an even crappier place than before, but no, it's just about your  _Goddamn_ _crew, isn't it?!_ " She yelling now, but no one stops on the streets to stare, they're too busy trying to find places to sleep now that they're in a whole new environment. "Could you maybe, just  _maybe,_  think about your family?!"

 _"I AM!"_  He counters, eyes sharp and fiery. "If I find a way out of here, then I can get us food. Do you understand, Centola? I can help, but only if I take the low road." His voice calms through out his sentence, his temper cooling. Kassim rubs his forehead, thinking hard about something. Centola tries to remember her anger but just can't seem to stay mad. It feels like they've been fighting a lot since Alibaba left.

_Alibaba..._

The thought of her old friend brings fresh pain into her heart. She always though that she was the one keeping Kassim and Alibaba from fighting, but now she realizes that Alibaba had also been the one keeping Kassim and her from getting into a scuffle. Sighing, Centola knows that she can't try to stop Kassim from stealing.

_It's in his nature._

But she can and will guide him toward the right choices. Honestly, she doesn't know how she can possible change this world from the very bottom. She's too young and too powerless and doesn't have the connections. The only possible way she can think of is to aggressively pursue her goals through flattery and persuasion, but she's not that kind of woman. So, she's going to have to do her best.

Centola meets Kassim's eyes and grins, holding out a hand.

"Truce?" She asks, and Kassim smirks, a chuckle vibrating in his chest.

"Geez, you can flip your personality on a whim!" But he takes her outstretched hand and shakes, a strong and firm grip that feels nothing like the time when they were little.

* * *

**Year 11:** "Mariam..." Her throat is dry like the desert and her eyes water. Mariam lay before her, weak and thin as her body shakes with fever.

_I can see her ribs...Oh God, I can see her ribs!_

It's mostly because she refuses to eat, and everything they force her to have makes her throw up a slimy black goo that smells like spoiled milk and rotten eggs. Centola barely has any water, and what she does have she uses on a cloth to wipe Mariam's forehead and face. Mariam opens her eyes, which are red around the edges and mucus lines the corners. Still, Centola wonders how she never noticed what a light shade of brown they were, just like her mother's hair at sunset.

"Big...Brother?" Her voice is raspy and low, and her hands shake violently.

"No, sweetheart...It's Centola, it's Big Sister." Mariam almost smiles but that appears to cause her great pain. She begins to cough, black sludge flying out of her mouth and staining her tunic. Centola has to force herself not to gag. Taking a dirty rag she wipes Mariam's mouth and neck, trying to get her little sister just a little clean.

"Big Sissster...It huuuuurts..." Centola bites her lip and nods slightly, pushing Mariam's black braids out of her face.

"I know, sweetheart, I know...But it'll all be better soon, okay?"

_Did I just lie?_

"You're right...I can see Anise..." Her whole body tenses and she draws blood from her lip.

"R-Really? How is she?"

"Good." The child's voice is slower now, lower than before. "I can see Lilliana too...She's smiling." A lone tear trails down Centola's face, landing on Mariam's cheek.

"I see. Mariam, I want you to know something." Mariam's eyes slowly find Centola and stare straight at her. "Be good to Anise and Lilliana. H-have...Have a good trip, sweetie! I've always loved you!"

The black haired little girl blinks before going limp, her eyes glazing over.

Her mouth finally twitches painfully into a smile.

"Goodbye...Cento..." Centola's shaking, and she stares at the form that  _was_  Mariam for a very long time before she opens her mouth and begins to wail.

_I wasn't. And that's almost worse._

* * *

Kassim's grip on her hand is painful, but Centola doesn't care. They watch as the cart filled high with bodies is wheeled away, taking little Mariam with it. The two stare at it, just like all the sobbing people around them, until it exits through the gates and disappears fully. Her eyebrow twitches. Kassim has tears falling down his cheeks, landing in the dirt below him.

"I'm going to get us out of here, Centola." The pain in her hand increases and she winces.

"How?" She asked hopelessly, shuffling her feet. The thirteen year old is glaring with his cold, hard eyes at the gates, lips moving with silent curses to the people who live beyond it.

"I'll do it, Cent. And until then, we're gonna survive for  _ourselves_ , not anyone else."

"...Is that really a good idea?"

"It's the only one I have."

* * *

**Year 12:** Kassim gets them out.

Centola had given him the bag of coins she'd been saving for years and he bribed a few of the guards to smuggle them through the gates, along with a few members of his crew. Their gang first travels toward their old homes, before finding an empty space replacing it.

"They must have demolished it," Kassim says matter-of-factly, and the others nod their heads in agreement. Centola says nothing, but felt a pang in her chest for her old home. Now there's just a wide, dusty lot replacing it, empty and airy. It almost looks like more of a blemish than Junkyard Street had been. The other street rats split up, making plans to meet after they were settle.

"Oi! Kassim, do ya wanna stay with me? I gotta place 'round here they didn't destroy." Kassim looks at Centola and opens his mouth to decline before Centola beas him to the punch.

"You should go with Hassan."

"Huh?" Kassim's eyes are wide and his mouth hangs open. Centola smiles slightly and tilts her head off in the other direction.

"I have some things I need to do, so you go with him." Kassim's mouth opens and closes like a fish. Centola takes the opening to run off, waving and yelling,

"Let's meet here tomorrow at noon!"

* * *

Centola walks the path she has walked since she was a child, down a dusty, dirty path that lead around and through buildings with broken walls. She comes to the bar she has dreamed about, the last place she considers a home in this destroyed Balbadd of hers. It's late at night and men are exiting the door, drunk and disorderly as they laugh and forget about their troubles.

The strawberry blonde goes around the side (making sure to avoid the drunkards) and knocks on the door until an elderly woman with clouded, gray eyes and wrinkles all over her face opens it with a scowl. Then, a crooked twisting of her lips that is as close to a smile as Mrs. Gamela can have appears on her face and she cackles like a witch.

"I should have known that a brat like you wouldn't have gone down so easily!" Centola smiles brightly and slyly replies,

"And here I was thinking that you would be long dead, Mrs. Gamela!"

* * *

Mrs. Gamela's apartment is just like she remembers, with books lining the walls and a certain homeliness to it that one wouldn't expect from the old, strict woman who ran the bar downstairs. Centola is given a cot and Mrs. Gamela helps her set it up next to the bed. Exhaustion from her escape finally sweeps over the girl, and she flops down on the cot in an unladylike manner, pulling the blanket up to her chin.

"So you're back, Centola."

"Hmm..."

"Are you going to continue working for me?" Centola can't help but laugh and nod her head.

"Of course I am!"

"Good. I've lost customers and the entertainment I hired is tone deaf." Centola slips her hands under her pillow and her eyes close, sleep dragging her down onto the cot that feels wonderful after nearly two years of sleeping on the rough ground.

"Goodnight, Mrs. Gamela"

"Yeah, yeah, goodnight."

* * *

**Year 14:** The show is always a thrill, even after years of doing it. For two years, things almost go back to normal. Centola begins to work for Mrs. Gamela again, singing and dancing for the crowds of people who roar in approval of her seductive tactics. Kassim has come into money somehow (though she knows it's because he's become a thief) and offered to help her get her own place, but she declined, stating that she wanted to use her own money.

The new house she bought is a one bedroom, one kitchen place that cost nearly everything she has, but Centola doesn't complain because it's her own. Mrs. Gamela insisted she buy it so that she could be close to the bar. For tonight's show, her skirt is a long piece of green fabric that she uses the top corners of to knot at her waist. A green bandeau with black straps are tight against her chest, and gold circlets are placed on each of her upper arms, her hair held up in a braided bun. A few wavy strands of hair near her bangs hang loose around her face, and she actively needs to try to not blow them away in order to provide her with a, 'mature look'.

In the mirror she notices how different she looks from years ago when she first preformed. Instead of an awkward, budding girl, she's a taller, filled out young lady with curves in the right places and eyes that shine. Her neck is slim like a swan and her arms and legs are long and graceful. The strawberry blonde's face has gentle lines to it, almost as if reflecting her pacifist nature. She is fourteen years old, and the crowds crave her skin when she dances.

Today the melody is smooth and low, a song meaning to inspire excitement in the hearts of those who listen. Centola moves just like the beat, and keeps her voice low and loud.

_"Nobody ever said_

_'It's going to be easy'._

_Oh, oh, no,_

_Honey, it's so much more than that."_

She continues to belt out lyric after lyric, wishing the music never has to end. Every time she sings, it's like a thousand butterflies are swarming around her, holding her up above the world.

_"It's just not our day, darling_

_But soon,_

_At night,_

_We can play."_

After her set, she exits the stage and enters the dressing room, wiping her forehead with a towel. She carefully reapplies her lip gloss and blush and listens to the other girls talk behind her.

"Kassim's back~"

"He's so dreamy!" Centola smiles and hides her face, struggling not to laugh as the girls all praise her friend.

"And that boy with him? Mmmhmm."

"He's obviously rich. We should try to schmooze him." Centola freezes and turns toward them.

"Excuse me," she says politely, stepping closer to the group "Who's with Kassim this evening?" Her voice is honey and so is her smile. The girls blush and scratch their heads.

"We're not sure," Admits one girl, who shuffles her feet. She's twenty yet is so embarrassed that she can't look Centola in the eyes. The other one is more confident, but the air around her is boastful.

"Some blonde boy." she waves her hand back and forth in a 'doesn't matter' gesture. "He's a bit...Naïve."

_She probably thinks I'm going to steal him from her._

Centola pales and excuses herself from the conversation, walking to the door and entering the lounge, smiling at Yukino the bartender as she passes the bar. For a moment, nobody notices her, but then there are stares and looks and a few whistles. She curses herself for not changing before coming here, lamenting that it's too late to hightail it back to the dressing room.

So instead she walks confidently toward the back where Kassim sits facing her in a wooden chair, a boy sitting across from him. Her heart begins to beat fast as her palms sweat, but she keeps her composure and makes sure her face is set in a calm expression.

_The boy has golden hair and wears green and white robes._

A man beside her reaches out his arm.

"Hey there, baby," He mumbles, grinning ear to ear. She stops and faces him. His ears and nose are covered with piercings, tattoos lining his arms and chest. His eyes are unfocused with drunken stupor, his cheeks flushed with alcohol. He tenses and pulls his arm back once he notices who she is and quickly sits up straighter. "Uh, sorry Centola. Say hi to Kassim for me, alright? I gotta go now." He jumps up from his coach and heads to another section of the bar, Centola watching him go.

That has happened a lot recently. Men who obviously aren't any good start to harass her and then leave her alone, mentioning Kassim. She has a inkling of suspicion they are apart of Kassim's gang, and would someday ultimately become apart of his Fog Troop as well. It's sort of annoying that he warned (or perhaps threatened) his crew to stay away from her, but she can't help but also be thankful. It's not like she would ever want to be around men like that; in truth they scare her a little bit- which is another downside of living in the Slums.

This is, of course, not including her childhood friends Hassan and Zaynab, who she knows are shady-looking but genuinely good people. Though the couple often bickers, they genuinely care for one another and for Kassim and her. It's good to have close-knit pals in this neighborhood; ones whom you can count on to bust you out of tough situations and whom in return rely on you for help and assistance. More than once has Centola saved the day by persuading the authorities to look the other way in return for a handful of coins.

In times like those, often Kassim tries to pay her back. But she doesn't let him.

(She doesn't want money from the pockets of the rich men he stole from.)

Remembering what she was doing before hand, she makes it to the table as Kassim is still speaking.

"By the way, you said you're locked in the palace? How did you get here?"

"Sneaking out was hard!  _So_  many guards!" Her heart stops, and then beats faster than a hummingbird's wings.

"How'd you get past them?" She wants to change this world. And to do that, Centola must interfere in this world's events. If for nothing else than to keep on living peacefully with Kassim and Hassan and Zaynab and Mrs. Gamela, and to give Alibaba a chance to become a great ruler for Balbadd. If she can do that...If she can just keep Kassim from doing  _too_ much...Then maybe everything will work out for her country, and there won't be any need for bloodshed.

Coming up behind the boy, she smiles at Kassim. Her dear friend notices her and widens his eyes, alarm setting in.

"Well..." The blonde boy starts, but Centola wraps her arms around his neck and presses her cheek to his, grinning like an idiot.

"Alibaba!" The boy starts and falls out of his chair, Centola regaining her balance and stepping back before she can greet the floor as well. Alibaba blinks up at her, unbelieving and unrecognizing before something clicks and he jumps to his feet, blushing and stuttering.

"C-Centola! Is that you?" She nods and smiles again, Alibaba rushing over and gathering her into a hug. "It's been forever since I saw you last!"

"Five years!" She exclaims, hugging him back. "How are you?" Alibaba tells her he's been good and Centola can't help but remember the last thing she said to him before he went to the palace.

_Oh Good God I'm an idiot, aren't I? Why'd I tell him I had a crush on him?_

Unfortunately, her feelings haven't changed and she can feel her cheeks turn pink even as she tries to remain calm.

The pitcher on the table draws her attention, and she eyes Kassim.

"Kassim," She says in a scarily calm voice. Kassim visibly gulps as a aura of anger begins to surround her. Alibaba, who had been getting another seat for his childhood companion, returns and senses the trouble brewing like a pot of burnt soup. He laughs uneasily as Centola continues on. "If that  _is_  what I  _think_  it is, I'm going to be very angry."

Kassim holds his hands up.

"Um, well, er-" Centola grabs the alcohol off of the table along with the mugs and walks over to a neighboring table.

"Hey!" Kassim yells, hands outstretched pitifully toward his beer. Centola reaches the other table and smiles at it's occupants.

"Good evening, Hassan, Zaynab!" She greets them, holding up the drinks. "Want some free alcohol on Kassim?"

* * *

Kassim smarts for a while after that and Centola takes the time to catch up with Alibaba. They retell stories of their youth and Centola catches him up on how she's been, speaking about her time at the bar and how well she's been received. She avoids talking about the segregation camp and how she escaped it, and doesn't mention Kassim's new gang and influence in the Slums.

"How's Mariam?" Centola knows that Kassim didn't tell Alibaba that Mariam was dead, but she still looks at the Slum rat, who urges her with his eyes to lie. She doesn't want to, but what good would telling the truth do?

"Great!" She says enthusiastically. "Mariam is such a little troublemaker now, though."

"Ugh, tell me about it," Kassim says, rubbing his forehead.

"Just last week I found her rolling in the mud with those friends of hers!"

"Remember the time before that? She took one of her embroidered fabrics and tried to sell it for twice as much as it should have been!" They are all laughing, the fake memories causing lightheartedness that pains Centola to feel. It scares her how easy it is to lie. To pretend that Maraim is alright, to pretend like everything is normal. It's frightening and yet it's also such a nice feeling. Alibaba, believing in their lies, snickers slyly.

"God, you both act like worried parents," He teases, pointing a finger at them. "If I didn't know any better I'd think you both got married!"

Centola can feel a part of her heart break at that sentence. She doesn't let it show, but she feels as though someone slapped her. Alibaba knows she had a crush on him. Maybe he thought she moved on- it's logical enough. After all, five years have come and gone, puberty striking like a viper at it's unsuspecting prey on all of them. Maybe it's better if he does think that.

"Like I would marry a guy who can't do his own laundry!" Centola jeers, winking at Kassim. The teen narrows his eyes and shoots back,

"I  _would_  but you won't let me." If she didn't think it was impossible, it seems like Kassim was  _embarrassed_  by Alibaba's comment. She chalks it up to the drinks he has probably had in order trick Alibaba while annoyedly thinking about the  _drinks_  he's had.

They laugh and talk, but Centola doesn't let herself get carried away by the reminiscing and teasing. She keeps an eye on Kassim all night, making sure that he doesn't pay one of his goons to follow Alibaba. If he did, then cutting off Alibaba when he was going to explain how he got out of the palace would be for nothing. It's late when Alibaba needs to leave. Centola and Kassim follow him out, all smiling. Alibaba grins sheepishly at Kassim.

"The day I left for the palace...I'm uh...I'm sorry I hit you. You told me to get lost so I wouldn't regret leaving, right?" Kassim pauses before answering, his face morphing into an expression of shock.

Centola has never truly understood how no one knew what Kassim was planning. His true feelings can be splayed across his face one second and then covered up the next. Like now, Centola can tell that the truth is that Kassim hadn't said those cruel words so Alibaba wouldn't have regrets. Kassim said them so that he himself wouldn't have any.

"Yeah! Of course! After all, we're friends!" He's lying, but Centola stays quiet and instead focuses on how happy that one sentence makes the Prince of Balbadd.

* * *

"I guess this is goodbye, again." Alibaba's grin is lopsided and adorable, and Centola's heart can't help but start pounding as her cheeks become bright red. She wonders if he notices.

"Yeah, but..." Centola bites her lips and looks down in embarrassment. "Will you visit?" She asks shyly, hope blossoming in her chest. Alibaba turns red, and it's like fireworks go off inside her.

"Of course I will!" He exclaims, and Centola beams.

"Really?" Alibaba nods his head up and down, and Centola knows that he hasn't changed at all. Even if he's a Prince, even if he's been educated as royalty at the palace, he is still the boy whom she's adored since she was a kid.

"That makes me really happy, Alibaba!"

* * *

Kassim watches as Centola and Alibaba go off into their own little world, just like when they were kids.

For a moment, he feels jealous. And then he remembers that after this they'll probably never see Alibaba again, which makes him feel better. Five seconds later, he realizes that he's a horrible person for feeling good about that. Alibaba has been like a brother to him, but Centola...

It was Centola who comforted him after he killed his father, and also was the person who cheered him up after Anise died. Centola had been there for him since Alibaba left for the palace, paying for food and taking care of Kassim and Mariam when they were sick or hurt. Centola had attended to Mariam when they were stuck in that prison meant for the Slum people, and she had also given Kassim her entire life's savings to bribe the guards. Centola is the last person Kassim has, the last person he even cares about.

Because he doesn't care about himself. Everything he does he does for her and her dream for everyone to live together happily. And to do that, he must rally the people and take down the tyranny. Which was why he turns and slips a few coins into Hassan's waiting fingers to follow Alibaba to the palace and find out how he snuck out of it. If this succeeds, then he can raid the palace treasury. He can do it.

He has to.

* * *

They wait until Alibaba disappears into the fog before leaving, Kassim making a mental note to thank Hassan for leaving unnoticed by Centola, a feat that is surprisingly hard to do. He remembers when he was really young and he tried to sneak out one night only to find Centola waiting for him outside of their shack in the Slums, effectively scaring the crap out of him.

Kassim notices Centola staring at him with her mirror-like eyes, so he raises an eyebrow.

"Whatcha lookin' at?" Centola smiles, and to him she's the prettiest girl in all of Balbadd.

"You were grinning." He shakes his head and regards her with amusement.

"I was just thinkin' of something nice. Come on, I'll walk ya home," She beams, and Kassim thinks that if talking about the days when they were children makes her this happy, then he'll do it daily. Centola reaches over and intertwines her finger with Kassim's, walking side by side with him under the light of the full moon.

"So when should I do your laundry?" Centola jokes, and Kassim laughs, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

"Should I call you 'wife'?" Her laugh is like church bells and Kassim can't  _believe_  she's only fourteen. But then again, he's sixteen, and appearances can be deceiving. "You left your clothes at the bar."

"I know, I'm an idiot," She sighs, using her free hand to push away some stray hairs. "Good thing I have extras at my place!" Kassim takes off his sash, pausing to wrap it around her bare shoulders before taking her hand again and walking down the almost deserted road. The few men who are there nod their head toward Kassim, who in return pulls Centola closer, a signal not to bother them.

For a while they walk in comforting silence. But as they near Centola's house, she stops walking, and Kassim stops as well, looking back at her curiously.

"What's wron-"

"We lied to Alibaba," The silence is unwelcome and heavy, Kassim wondering how to explain it to her.

"We did.  _I_  did." He struggles for the words to say. "It's just-"

"You don't have to explain it to me, Kassim. I understand. But...Am I a bad person for enjoying it?" Kassim's mouth forms words but it takes a moment for him to actually say something.

"No. No it doesn't Cent." He squeezes her hand, giving her what he hopes is a comforting look. "Nothing you could do could be bad." The mirrors in her eyes shine, reflecting the moonbeams hitting her face.

"Thank you, Kassim." Though her voice is low, Kassim hears the relief flooding her.

"Whatever. Now come on, I don't want to be out here in the fog any longer than I have to." She bobs her head and they once again set off to the final stretch of the journey. In front of her house Centola lets go of his hand and opens the door with the key she keeps in her bandeau at all times in case of emergency. Before entering, she smiles at Kassim and says,

"Thank you for walking me home, Kassim!" Said boy puts his hands behind his head and grins lazily, cocking his head to the side.

"No problem, Cent."

* * *

A few days later, Mrs. Gamela calls Centola up into her apartment, wringing her hands and pressing her wrinkled lips together until they turn white.

"What's wrong, Mrs. Gamela?" Mrs. Gamela doesn't reply, just heads up the stairs and into the apartment, sitting down at the bed. Centola pulls out the chair at the desk and sits, waiting for her boss to start speaking.

"I have something I have to tell you, brat," Mrs. Gamela gets up from where she was sitting and runs a hand over a bookshelf, fingers tracing the spines of books and riffling through papers. Centola recalls the time when Mrs. Gamela taught her to write on those pieces of paper, she sat at this very desk and chair. Mrs. Gamela begins to speak as she searches, sounding very rushed.

"Well, you see brat, I learned a few years ago that your mother could read and write," Centola's chest tighten as her face contorts, shock registering in her mind. Her mother could read and write?

_But...How...?_

"I figured this out when I found... _This_  book in my library." She pulls out a faded red book with yellowed pages. The elderly woman hands it to Centola, who then rubs the cover and finds that it's actually quite soft. She opens the cover and on the first page something was inscribed by a neat hand.

_Property of Lilliana De Coverna_

"Lilliana...De Coverna?" Centola asks in astonishment, rereading the same words over again. Mrs. Gamela nods and gestures to the next page. Centola turns it, suddenly eager to know what her mother wrote, only to find a blank page.

"It's empty," She murmurs, running her fingers along the yellow paper.

"Not quite," Mrs. Gamela responds, running old fingers through her gray hair. The woman hustles over to Centola and stands over her, looking at the page. "I believe that your mother might have been able to use magic, and used it to conceal this book in my library without me noticing until she died!" For a few moments Centola's mind is blank, and when it restarts Centola raises an eyebrow at her usually calm (though rude) boss.

"Magic? She was a singer, not a magician." Mrs. Gamela gives Centola a dirty look and then motions to the book.

"I take stock of my library every month to make sure nothing is missing or stolen- God knows what hooligans are in my bar night after night. But after your mother died, this book- no,  _diary_  was suddenly there. You can see it  _belongs_  to her, and how else could it been put there? Brat, you're clever, but the surprise in your eyes when I told you about this goes to show that it wasn't your doing. You and Lilliana are the only two people I have ever let in here, other than my dead no-good husband that is." A deep breath is taken after the older woman's long rant. The bar owner sits on the bed again, rubbing her own back.

"I need to stop yelling so much." She grumbles crankily, and Centola almost voices her agreement. Instead, she sighs, still unbelieving. If her mother  _was_ a magician, she would've told Centola. Or Centola would've  _noticed_. It's not every day that someone levitates or summons ice spears.

"I just don't know Mrs. Gamela. My mother never seemed to know anything about reading  _or_ writing, and I never saw her do magic of any kind. Besides, if my mother could do magic, shouldn't I be able to as well?"

"...Brat, do you remember when you were seven?"

_I never forget anything._

"Not really, no."

"Well, for a short period of time you seemed to be able to... _Charm_  people." Centola does recollect a time when she could get people to do what she wanted just by smiling and batting her eyelashes. But she never dreamed that Mrs. Gamela would be able to remember that.

"I don't understand, Ma'am."

"Eh, nevermind! Maybe I'm just going crazy." Centola smiles at her boss's mood swing and bows to her.

"May I go now, Mrs. Gamela?"

"Yeah, yeah, off with ya!" The old lady grumbles to herself. Centola turns and leaves, clutching the diary to her chest.

* * *

Laying in bed that night, hair fanned out around her, Centola wonders about what Mrs. Gamela said and holds the dairy over her chest, the cover pressing against the space between her collar bones. Something wet slips down her cheeks and she gasps for breath, a dark feeling settling deep within her. Her entire body deflates, her head starts pounding with a painful headache.

"M-mom," She weeps, hugging the diary as close as she can to become just a little closer to the person she misses most.

The brightness is sudden and painful, a white light radiating from the diary. She looks at it, astonished as the tears stop pouring down. On the cover of the book is a flower, shimmering gold and white, a little sun imprinted on the center where the pollen should have been. And looking down, a matching tattoo lay on between her collar bones. Like a lightbulb lighting up, Centola remembers it from when she was a child. Her jaw drops.

She scrambles up, now sitting cross legged on her bed. She lays the diary carefully on the blanket before her, mesmerized. It seems to open by itself, the yellow pages glowing gold. Black, carefully written words appear one after another on every page. Her mouth is dry, but her eyes hold excitement as she flips through the book, running her fingers over the lines, but not reading any of it yet. Centola closes her mother's diary and stares at nothing, realizing that her mom  _had_  kept a secret from her; Lilliana could preform... _Magic_.

Centola can't really believe it, but then again, she doesn't have to, not yet. The glow has settled down and is slowly fading away, prompting her to jump up and run to the kitchen, throwing open one of the only cabinets and take the last candle from the lowest shelf. Quickly lighting it with some matches, Cent sets herself up at the shabby table she bought for half price due to the uneven legs.

_It's not like I have people over a lot._

Laying the diary in front of her, Centola reads the first page again.

_Property of Lilliana De Coverna_

Is her name...Is her name Centola De Coverna? She tries saying it aloud, the visage of excitement developing on her face. It's so foreign yet welcoming on her tongue. She takes a deep, steadying breath and begins to read.

* * *

It's strange how the world works. History and Fate are two separate beings, sometimes far away and other times so deeply intertwined they look the same. They are lovers, dancing a dangerous dance with poise and practice, sharing pitying simpers at the people they trample and winking at that ones they bless. On and on, never missing a step, the rhythm of the world pounding in their ears as they go.

But History and Fate cannot ever become the present, because they are forced behind a whole new entity itself.

The past comes only after  _Life_ , who flows through the people and the earth, creating new beings with a simple flick of her fingers. Life is kind to everyone, never intentionally hurting those she helps berth. Life is full of love and compassion, mercy and grace. There is nothing more great than the beginning of a life, nothing more precious than the newly lit flames igniting the pits of darkness to change the world.

It's funny how people blame her for the tango of the two lovers.

Lilliana was a special person. She was paid special attention by Life during birth, and History and Fate both stepped in during her years of existence with equal kindness and cruelty.

Lilliana De Coverna was born to a woman named Farida De Coverna, and was a "child of the desert". Farida often told her the story of her birth: that she was born early in the morning under the light of sunrise, pastel colors painting the sky and the sand in shades of orange and violet. According to her mother, the beautiful pinks and yellows that had adorned the clouds when Farida held her up to the pale blue sky were unforgettable, as was the soft calls of desert foxes in the distance as they howled for the new day.

Her father was a man who had caught Farida's interest with his particular eyes and boyish grin. Farida had vowed at a young age to never marry, but she didn't vow to never have children. Lilliana had an older sister called Zeina, who absolutely adored her little sister. One of Lilliana's earliest memories, in fact, was being set to bed by an older girl- a girl who had eyes so deep and beautiful that she was lulled to sleep by their endless depth and not the gentle lullaby sung to her.

_"_ _Quiet is the wind_

_that slips between the branches and_

_Unknown is the world_

_Around you and I_

_Yet that's alright, yes that's alright_

_You're safe here, we're safe here."_

Her family traveled from place to place, checking up on Farida's "businesses" before leaving to go to another place. Farida had many friends and enemies, and her fun loving nature was molded around the thrill of the chase, to her daughter's ire. The girl always pleaded with their mother to settle down, but Farida just smiled and told her that when she was older, both her and Zeina would understand their mother's willingness to travel. Lilliana never liked it when her mother said that, it gave her chills.

The thing that made the nomadic life bearable was her sister. They were only half siblings, so they didn't look alike; Lilliana with their mother's brown hair and tanned skin, Zeina with her father's blonde locks and lighter complexion- so light, in fact, that it was hard to make out any similarities between Farida and her oldest child...Though, once the years passed, a charming, confident attitude and white-toothed smirk become a shared trademark of the two De Coverna women. Farida had her last children when Zeina was six and Lilliana was three, twin girls with pale skin and bright hair who are named Maysun and Nawfar. The four daughters of Farida were educated by their crafty mother on a variety of subjects, including reading and writing.

When Zeina turned twelve, she suddenly gained magic abilities.

Farida revealed to them after that that they were all a special kind of magician (a "specialized magician") like her, and that they must learn the trade that the De Covernas had cherished for generations. It was a trade passed down from mother to daughter, an inherited magic. The four De Coverna sisters learned how to perform charms, to cast illusions, and stories of the Rukh, consuming all the knowledge about their gifts they could before they gained them. Farida made them learn new stories as well as old, and had them choose a specific talent to study and hone.

Zeina chose gardening, and was usually found wearing a different flower in her hair. Maysun learned to paint beautiful portraits and sceneries, and Nawfar studied how to play music. Lilliana chose singing, as she'd always been fascinated with sounds of all kinds. Only Zeina and Nawfar developed the 'gift', and both Lilliana and Maysun were  _relatively_  human despite their large supplies of Magoi and the spells they had studied.

The only downside of her life was, without a doubt, her mother's...Habits. She understood why Farida always had to work, but the absence in her life caused by it is hard to forget, no matter how hard Zeina tried day after day to fill the gap. In fact, she felt quite sorry for her poor sister, who always had to be the responsible adult; from cooking every meal to working hard to become Farida's Heir...Not to mention that when Farida was home, often times Zeina had to nurse their mother's hangover or quickly usher an unfamiliar man from Farida's room out the door.

(The worse memory Lilliana had was not Zeina and Farida fighting, nor being forgotten at a Kou inn by her mother, not even being kidnapped by pirates on the way to Partevia. But rather, it was the memory of Farida coldly ignoring Zeina's contributions to their business and to raising her younger siblings. It was the memory of the night when Zeina was at her lowest,  _but Farida didn't care._

It was the memory of her mother and sister...Acting as boss and employee.)

The four sisters grew into lovely young women, each with different perspectives on life. Their mother, Farida, caught an illness and died the way Lilliana was born, in the desert under the light of the sunrise. Zeina, the Heiress of their small clan, took over their mother's role as head of their "business" and traveled the paths their family's ancestors. Maysun decided to create a place where magicians with their special power could live and train, a base camp for the future De Covernas that may be born. Nawfar went with her twin and last Lilliana heard married a magician who had stumbled across them and joined them in their quest to create a clan.

But Lilliana had her own ambition, an ambition that she craved for ever since she was a girl. To live peacefully in one place, away from the magic and secrets her family made her live with since birth. She wished her sisters the best of luck and her love, and then headed to Balbadd. Lilliana got a gig singing in a tavern, earning a decent wage. Then she was given an even higher paying job. And then another, and another and another until the royal palace asked her to preform for them.

She couldn't believe it. Everything she had wished for finally came true. A home, a job, a  _life_.

But after that, a fateful incident occurred. He was a noble from the kingdom of Sasan, with red hair and big, truthful eyes. She loved him the moment he met her gaze nervously and asked for her name.

"Lilliana," She had said, leaving out her last name on purpose. "What's yours?"

"I'm-"

* * *

Centola stares at the page in fascination, finally after years of questioning finding out her father's name.

* * *

From that moment on, the pair was swept into a whirlwind romance, resulting in a pregnancy. After confiding in her lover and him asking her to return to Sasan with him to get married, Lilliana told him that she can't leave with him. He wanted to question her, but Lilliana remained adamant. That night, she ran away from the royal palace, going to the one place he wouldn't search: the Slums of Balbadd, where the worst the country could offer resided.

Lilliana told herself she has to do it. After all, he was a noble and she a commoner. No, she was a magician, and what kind of match would that be? A noble man and a dirty blooded magic-user. She couldn't let her child bear that title, she wouldn't. Not to mention the King of Sasan had a legendary rivalry with Zeina about something so  _stupid_ and, despite how stupid it was, she knew he wouldn't forget it.

She met Mrs. Gamela, gained her nickname (the Queen of the Slums) and became friends with her kind neighbor Anise. Her life was good, and despite the struggles, she had her darling daughter Centola. It wasn't't perfect, but it  _was_  good, and that was enough for the brunette. Often she wondered about Maysun and Nawfar, and thought about her protective elder sister Zeina. How  _did_  Maysun and Nawfar's struggle to build a paradise for magicians like them go? Many times she contemplated leaving the Slums to head there with Centola, but then heard the street rats call out, "Cent!" and knew she didn't actually want to leave.

Lilliana De Coverna had a new family.

* * *

As the diary comes to the last pages, the sunrise draws upon the horizon. It's pink and purple and the sky light blue, the sun peaking out from the horizon to predict the foreboding sunny day.

Centola de Coverna reads the letter scrawled into the last pages and then rereads it, not quite understanding what her mother wants.

_Dear Centola,_

_I know you're probably very confused, and hurt that I kept all this a secret from you, but I did it because that's what needed to be done. I know that you understand, even if you are angry with me. I hope I didn't die an early death, but if you're reading this that means I probably did. I'm sorry for leaving you alone, Cent._

_But I must continue on, and explain four things. Concerning how I was able to keep this diary a secret, I hid it in Mrs. Gamela's apartment, using a special charm my mother taught me as a child. I also put another charm on it so that Mrs. Gamela would spot it a year or two after a I died, and since that woman is a clean freak, she'll probably will realize it's there a month after the charm wears off._

_Onto another matter: regarding your father, please don't ever go to him. I know this is a selfish thing for me to ask of you, but I love him and so I want you to never interfere with the life he is probably living now. Centola, my darling little girl, please do as your mother says. He deserves to be happy after the pain I undoubtably brought him._

_The third thing I must explain? The special kind of magic we De Covernas use. As far as I'm concerned, only your aunts Zeina and Nawfar and you are able to use this magic. You are a Temptress, and the magic you use is called Temptation magic. I can't explain it in detail without confusing you, so that brings me to the fourth and final explanation I must share with you._

_I want you to go study Temptation magic. I know this is another selfish request, and you don't have to do it, but please just read on and then decide what you want to do. My sister Zeina runs my mother's "business", which is, unfortunately, a large number of bars, brothels and taverns all connected and run by the De Coverna clan. It's sort of like a giant gang, or perhaps a spy network. I never quite grasped the reason my mother needed a spy network, but Zeina did and I'm not one to question her choices._

_Every five years Zeina makes the trip from Damnat to Rayide. According to my calculations (and a few favors I cashed in) she's going to be there when you're fifteen. If you can meet my sister, then she'll train you._

_I love you sweetie. I love you so much that it pains me to think about dying, but if I don't leave this behind for you then what kind of mother would I be? I'm not going to abandon you without any trace._

_You'll find a map of Rayide and some papers in here as well, explaining certain charms I have mastered and their formulas. I wish I could give you more. I wish I could give you the whole world. Goodbye, Centola, and I hope you live a long, happy life._

_With all my continuing love,_

_Lilliana De Coverna._

Perhaps she is a bit hurt. And she is definitely confused. But she can never be mad at her mother, because she raised her and provided for her and was the first person in her entire life to make her feel  _loved_. Jane Hullburg's family was aloof and detached from one another, their whole house was cold and frigid like an museum.

But Lilliana, Anise, Kassim, Mariam, Mrs. Gamela, Shana and Alibaba made the Slums and Balbadd her true home, filled with warmth and happiness and the desire to do what's right. Could she really leave this place in search of her aunt? The answer hardens her resolve. She tightens her hands over the diary, her face shadowed by the light of the sunrise, just as her mother's had been when Farida held her up to the sun.

She couldn't.

* * *

Black silhouettes line the walls of palace. An unconscious blonde lays pitifully on the floor, surrounded by men in rags, anger in their actions and fury in their eyes.

A betrayed Prince.

A dead King.

A spoiled pig in human clothing about to ascend the throne.

_No matter how hard Centola had tried to save Kassim from a life of thievery, it didn't work._

* * *

The bag of coins concealed along his clothes is a clue. The faint smell of smoke lingering on his robes is another. But the major tip off is his eyes. They flash with triumph when he meets the gazes of his buddies, but guilt, pure and true, spills on top of cow-brown eyes when he sees her. The confirmation comes in the news that the girls in the bar carry with them when they gossip.

_"The palace treasury has been raided!"_

_"It was the Fog Troop."_

To say she's angry is an understatement. But Centola is a kind person who doesn't hold grudges. So, for once in Centola De Coverna's life, she allows Jane Hullburg take charge. Her face becomes cold, and her eyes unreadable. Her mind fills with the memories of school life where people tease her and talk behind her back. She lets her heart be incased in stone like it was then, before it was broken by Alibaba and Lilliana. She carefully encases the stone with metal and breaks her own dream to live a good life with her friends.

Jane Hullburg waits in her house for Kassim to come, as he said he would. And when he enters and greets her, Jane merely blinks and motions for him to sit. Kassim is troubled by the lack of expression on her face, a flicker of nervousness crossing his face. Centola pleads for Jane to become just a bit kinder. Jane reminds her of pain and betrayal.

"What in God's name did you do, Kassim?" Her voice is as tough as nails. She won't let him get out of this one.

"I don't know what you mean," Kassim answers, but surprise and hurt shows.

"Cut the crap. I know something happened, so out with it!" She growls, but everything about her remains calm; her posture, her eyes, her face.

"I-I...I raided the palace treasury." Kassim straightens, as if realizing he doesn't have to get yelled at by a girl. He shouldn't have, though, because Jane remembers people like him at her school, acting entitled and prissy, and it pisses her off. Centola had let go of those feelings, but Jane still holds onto those memories of hurt and pain.

"You're a fucking idiot, you know that?" They're Jane's words, but they hold Centola's emotions.

The metal cracks, but holds steady.

Kassim looks like he'd been slapped, astonishment lining the curves of his face. That's what makes him weak, thinks Jane.

_That's what makes him a man._

The metal casing falls off, and the stone is pummeled by invisible hands.

"Maybe I am, but I'm doing this for you." Centola can't take it anymore. She pushes Jane out and lets her emotions pile onto her face, all the fury and hurt spilling out from the stone.

"Don't you blame this on me!" She screeches, standing up and breathing heavily. "I told you so many times to stop and you didn't listen  _once_."

 _"You're not the boss of me!"_  Centola blinks, steps back, and regains her composure.

"You're...Right. I'm not ruling your life. So if we follow that logic then..." Centola smooths out the wrinkles in her skirt and says very curtly, "I'm leaving, Kassim."

"...Huh?"

"I found out recently that I have an aunt in Rayide who wants to meet me, so I'm going to visit and train under her."

"You...You can't leave Balbadd!"

"Why not? I have the money to do so, I have the reasons to do so, and if I'm not your boss, then you're certainly not mine."

"This is unfair, Cent," He's pleading now, but Centola doesn't have the strength anymore to look into those brown eyes of his.

"Life  _isn't **fair**_ , Kassim. But at least it gives us a  _choice_. I'll be back someday, but until then, please do me a favor and don't die or get caught up in this...This  _Fog Troop_." They're both standing now in the uncomfortable silence at the utterance of Kassim's band of thieves.

"I think I should go."

"That would be for the best," Steady, Centola, it's only for a few more minutes and then you can have a breakdown. He goes to the door, but as he leaves he pauses for a moment, almost as if to say something else. But then Kassim shakes his head and leaves, muttering,

"Bye."

"Bye, Kassim."

(That's the hardest goodbye Centola ever said.)

* * *

Mrs. Gamela isn't the kindest person ever to have graced this world, but she isn't that bad either. Centola cries into the old woman's lap as Mrs. Gamela sits on her bed, stroking the child's hair. Between strained gasps Mrs. Gamela is able to make out that Centola had a fight with Kassim and said some very harsh, mean things to him. Centola's tear stained face looks up at her, her pretty green eyes peering into Mrs. Gamela's calm demeanor.

"Are you almost finished, brat?" But her voice is gentle so that Centola won't start blubbering again.

"Yes Ma'am. I'm sorry I l-lost my cool." The strawberry blonde shivers and then straightens her back, pressing her hands together tightly.

"It's alright, Centola, but I would like an explanation." Centola nods and breaths, trying to find the words.

"I...I found a letter in the diary. It was from my mother, saying that I have an aunt in Rayide and that she wants me to go see her. I...Got in a fight with Kassim because of this, and also because..."

"The Fog Troop," Mrs. Gamela says gravely, her face stoney and unreadable. "I know of them and the trouble they are stirring up. That boy Kassim...You must really love him to stay with a guy like that."

"Wha...? Kassim and I are just friends- er, we  _were_  friends. Besides, I-" Centola shakes her head, distracted from the object of the conversation "Anyway, so I got in a big fight with Kassim and now...I told him that I'm leaving to join my aunt." Old eyes look at old hands and then into young, pleading green mirrors.

"You need my help, I suppose?"

"I'm sorry, Ma'am. I have a map, but my calculations show that I'll get there too late if I go on foot. Do you know any way I could go faster?" Mrs. Gamela purses her lips in thought.

"There is a caravan that's in town that arrived a few days ago. I think that they're going to Kou first and then passing over to Rayide. I'm not sure that you want to be around Kou because of how they've been treating Balbadd recently, but it  _was_  a nice place with a good emperor. Pity what happened to him." But Mrs. Gamela doesn't seem to hold much sympathy.

Centola nods solemnly.

"Then I suppose...I suppose I'll pack my things today and set off tomorrow...?"

"You'll have to leave today."

"W-what do you mean?" But Centola knows.

"The caravan is leaving tomorrow, and I don't think they'll accept unwanted guests." Centola bows her head in defeat.

"I'll pack and leave today, then..." Mrs. Gamela's hands caress Centola's cheeks and wrinkled lips that have forgotten how to smile kiss a smooth forehead.

"You will come back, brat, because I need you in my bar to bring in a steady cash flow." Fat, wet tears touch the wrinkles and the veins of her hand, and Centola questions how it her boss is so strong and steady, even when terrifying things occurr.

"I will. After all...This is where Alibaba and Kassim are, and they're my best friends. And I love them so much, so I'm...I'm going to go to Rayide and become strong enough to save them!"

"You've always been a peculiar girl, Centola. I'll see you soon, brat." The brat almost smiles. She bobs her head in agreement.

"I'll see you soon, Ma'am."

* * *

The caravan is a large, open place that looks sort of like a market. Situated on the outskirts of Balbadd, the caravan sits with large wagons in a circle, people in front of canvas colored tents selling exotic and ordinary fruits and goods alike. All of the vendors were gypsy-like outfits, with sashes tied around their heads, baggy desert pants and wide smiles.

"Miss! Yes, you, with your beautiful eyes! How about a watermelon?"

"Young lady with the unique blond hair! I have jewels~!"

"Hey pretty girl! This necklace would look lovely on you!" They try to sell their respective wares to her, but she ignores them (except for a few smiles and polite "no"s) and moves along. A worker who was helping carry bags to and from the loading area guides her over to a tent to ask permission to stay with them from the leader.

The leader of the caravan is an old man with sharp eyes who says his name is Akram. Centola introduces herself and states her case, telling him that she needs to go to Rayide and will work hard to earn a place among them.

"Hmm...I'm not sure we have a place in our tents, young Miss." Centola's heart sinks.

"Please sir! I'll sleep outside if I must, but I need to get to Rayide!" Akram studies her carefully and hums to himself.

"I'm not sure. I don't think-"

"She can stay with me!" It's a small, petite voice like milk and sugar. When Centola turns to see whom had spoken, she assumes that it must've been a dark-haired child wearing similar desert-styled clothes, but as it turns out, she's incorrect. The girl, barely nine, sports bright pink hair that flows in straight locks to her waist. Her eyes are the most lovely shade of red, like summer-time roses that are sold in the markets of Balbadd from foreign lands. She wears a light purple dress with a darker purple sash around her waist and black shoes, bangles dangling on her wrists. A small, white hoop earring hangs on her right ear.

"Bad!" The man sputters in surprise, and Centola wonders why he's chastising the girl in such a surprised voice.

"Akram, can't she stay with me? My tent's a bit small, but it can fit two people no problem!" The child's rosy eyes sparkle and plead with the elderly man. AKram, caught off guard, clears his throat and sighs.

"Well...I suppose if it's alright with you and her...She can stay." The pink haired child jumps in delight and grabs Centola's hand, dragging her away from the tent.

"Thanks, old man!" Akram yells something incomprehensible after them and the girl giggles. They reach a semi-small tent and the child opens the flap for Centola.

"Come in! Oh, and welcome to your new home!" Centola looks around and sets her things in the empty space next to the sleeping roll and supplies on the left. The tent is split right down the middle, like the girl was actually expecting someone to be staying with her.

"Um, thank you for letting me share your tent, um..."

"Did I forget to introduce myself? Ah! One of these days my head is going to fall off and a horse will kick it right into the mud!" The girl laughs and pats her own hair. It's a childish, sweet action which, coupled with her shy smile and red cheeks, enamors to Centola to her instantly. "Well, my name is Bad! I saw how confused you got when Akram said it, but it really is  _just_  Bad. Well, not  _really_  because my full name is Badroulbadour, but everyone  _calls_  me Bad." She grins with all her teeth, and Centola can't help but bask in how cute she is.

"That's a nice name, Bad. I'm-" Bad waves her hand in the air crazily, making sounds like 'ooh!' and eagerly whining, 'pick me, I know!'. "Um, okay, Bad."

"Your name is..." Bad pauses, putting her hand down. "... ** _Jane Hullburg_** , right?"

A breath is caught in a throat, and a stampede of unrecognizable questions soar across her mind.

"W-wh- how- Bad?" Her mouth is jumping up and down, words tumbling out too fast.

"So you didn't deny it, huh? I know who you were in your past life, Centola." Centola forces herself to come up with a normal question and then phrases it very carefully.

"Bad...How do you know about that?" A sigh escapes the rosy eyed girl's lips and she straightens her back, posing as if she'd said this many times already.

"Because I'm the one who sent you from  ** _Jane's_**  world to this one! I died in the future and called upon the past to come and save this world from it's destruction, and to do that I need four souls of four very special people!" She jumps to her feet and counts off on her fingers. "I need the Mountain, the Bird, the Shadow and you! I need you, Centola De Coverna, the Temptress!"

* * *

"I still don't get it."

"Sigh~ how troublesome~ alright, I'll explain it once more. In my past life the world- sorry,  _this_  world- was on the very brink of total destruction. In other words...Me and my friends had lost a very terrible war."

"Alright...Now, how does that affect me?"

"I'm getting to that! In order to save this world, I was sent back in time. I assume you understand time travel due to the fact that ** _Jane's_**  world was so advanced. When that happened, four souls were transferred back with me- four special people with gifts that, once born into this world, would manifest into powerful abilities. One of those people is you."

"But how did you realize I was  ** _Jane_**?"

" _Be-cause~!_  As I was being thrown back into the time stream, I got glimpses at different scenes. It was the lives all of you would live and the times in which I would find you."

"Which is why you came here and found me."

"Yup. I've been looking for each one of you as soon as I was able to. I've already found two of the souls."

"What? People from _my_  world?!"

"Oh dear, I forgot to mention that, didn't I~ Teehee!"

"...This is going to be a long journey, isn't it?"

"Mhm~!"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! I'm so excited to write more!
> 
> THIS CHAPTER HAD SO MUCH DEATH. I'M CRYING RIGHT NOW.
> 
> Also, guys, holy crackers, Bad appeared! I'm so happy. She's low-key my favorite OC, and you will see why~~~~ Thanks for reading!


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